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HANDBOUND 
AT  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
TORONTO  PRESS 


THE    LIFE   &  LETTERS   OF 
PETER  ILICH  TCHAIKOVSKY 


THE  LIFE   6-  LETTERS  OF 

ETER    ILICH 
CHAIKOVSKY 

Y  MODESTE  TCHAIKOVSKY 
DITED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN 
ITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 
.OSA  NEWMARCH  :  ILLUSTRATED 


,ONDON  :  JOHN  LANE  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
IEW  YORK :  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY  •  MCMVI 


ML 


B10725 


WILLIAM   BRBNOON   AND  SON,   LIMITED,   PRINTERS,   PLYMOUTH 


TO 

SERGEI    IVANOVICH    TANEIEV 

AND   TO   ALL 
WHO   STILL  CHERISH   THE    MEMORY    OF 

PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

I    DEDICATE   THIS    WORK 


INTRODUCTION 


IN  offering  to  English  and  American  readers   this 
abridged  edition  of  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Peter 
Ilich  Tchaikovsky,  my  introduction  must  of  necessity 
take  the  form  of  some  justification  of  my  curtail- 
ments and  excisions. 

The  motives  which  led  to  this  undertaking,  and  the 
reasons  for  my  mode  of  procedure,  may  be  stated  in  a  few 
words. 

In  1900  I  published  a  volume  dealing  with  Tchaikovsky,1 
which  was,  I  believe,  the  first  attempt  to  embody  in  book 
form  all  the  literature — scattered  through  the  byways  of 
Russian  journalism — concerning  the  composer  of  the 
Pathetic  Symphony. 

In  the  course  of  a  year  or  two — the  book  having  sold 
out  in  England  and  America — a  proposal  was  made  to  me 
to  prepare  a  new  edition.  Meanwhile,  however,  the 
authorised  Life  and  Letters,  compiled  and  edited  by  the 
composer's  brother,  Modeste  Ilich  Tchaikovsky,  was  being 
issued  in  twenty-five  parts  by  P.  I.  Jurgenson,  of  Moscow.2 

1  Tchaikovsky,  his  Life  and  Works:  with  extracts  from  his  writings  and 
the  diary  of  his  tour  abroad  in  1888.     Grant  Richards,  London,  1900. 

2  Zijn   Piotra   Ilicha    Tchaikovskavo.      P.   Jurgenson,   Moscow.      Three 
volumes. 


viii  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

This  original  Russian  edition  was  followed  almost  imme- 
diately by  a  German  translation,  published  in  Leipzig  by 
the  same  firm.1 

In  November,  1901,  the  late  P.  I.  Jurgenson  approached 
me  on  the  subject  of  a  translation,  but  his  negotiations 
with  an  American  firm  eventually  fell  through.  He  then 
requested  me  to  find,  if  possible,  an  English  publisher 
willing  to  take  up  the  book.  Both  in  England  and 
America  the  public  interest  in  Tchaikovsky  seemed  to  be 
steadily  increasing.  Frequent  calls  for  copies  of  my  small 
book — by  this  time  out  of  print — testified  that  this  was 
actually  the  case. 

An  alternative  course  now  lay  before  me :  to  revise  my 
own  book,  with  the  help  of  the  material  furnished  by  the 
authorised  Life  and  Letters,  or  to  take  in  hand  an  English 
translation  of  the  latter.  The  first  would  have  been  the 
less  arduous  and  exacting  task ;  on  the  other  hand,  there 
was  no  doubt  in  my  mind  as  to  the  greater  value  and  im- 
portance of  Modeste  Tchaikovsky's  work. 

The  simplest — and  in  many  ways  most  satisfactory — 
course  seemed  at  first  to  be  the  translation  of  the  Russian 
edition  in  its  entirety.  Closer  examination,  however, 
revealed  the  fact  that  out  of  the  3,000  letters  included  in 
this  book  a  large  proportion  were  addressed  to  persons 
quite  unknown  to  the  English  and  American  publics ; 
while  at  the  same  time  it  contained  a  mass  of  minute  and 
almost  local  particulars  which  could  have  very  little  signifi- 
cance for  readers  unversed  in  every  detail  of  Russian 
musical  life. 

1  Das  Leben  Peter  lljitsch  Tschaikowsky 's •,  translated  by  Paul  Juon.     P. 
Jurgenson,  Leipzig.     Two  volumes. 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Another  practical  question  confronted  me.  What  pub- 
lisher would  venture  upon  launching  this  biographical 
three-decker,  with  its  freight  of  3,000  letters,  amounting 
to  nearly  2,000  pages  of  closely  printed  matter?  Such 
colossal  biographies,  however  valuable  as  sources  of  in- 
formation to  the  specialist,  are  quite  beyond  all  possibility 
of  purchase  or  perusal  by  the  general  public.  That  the 
author  himself  realised  this,  seems  evident  from  the  fact 
that  the  German  edition  was  lightened  of  about  a  third  of 
the  original  contents. 

Following  the  lines  of  these  authorised  abridgments, 
while  using  my  own  judgment  as  to  the  retention  of  some 
portions  of  the  Russian  text  omitted  in  the  German 
edition,  I  have  condensed  the  work  still  further. 

It  may  be  true,  as  Carlyle  has  said,  that  mankind  takes 
"  an  unspeakable  delight  in  biography "  ;  but  it  is  equally 
certain  that  these  "  headlong  days  "  which  have  witnessed 
the  extinction  of  the  three-volume  novel  are  absolutely 
unfavourable  to  the  success  of  the  three-volume  biography. 

While  admiring  the  patient  and  pious  industry  which 
has  raised  so  colossal  a  monument  to  Tchaikovsky's 
memory,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  it  would  be  unreasonable 
to  expect  of  any  nation  but  his  own  a  hero-worship  so 
devout  that  it  could  assimilate  a  Tchaikovskiad  of  such 
prodigious  dimensions. 

The  present  volume  is  the  result  of  a  careful  selection 
of  material.  The  leading  idea  which  I  have  kept  in  view 
throughout  the  fulfilment  of  my  task  has  been  to  preserve 
as  far  as  possible  the  autobiographical  character  of  the  book. 
Wherever  feasible,  I  have  preferred  to  let  Tchaikovsky 
himself  tell  the  story  of  his  life.  For  this  reason  the 
proportion  of  letters  to  the  additional  biographical  matter 


x  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

is  even  greater  in  my  version  than  in  the  German  edition. 
When  two  or  three  letters  of  only  moderate  interest  have 
followed  in  immediate  succession,  I  have  frequently  con- 
densed their  contents  into  a  single  paragraph,  keeping  as 
closely  as  possible  to  the  phraseology  of  the  composer 
himself. 

In  one  respect  the  present  edition  shows  a  clear  im- 
provement upon  the  German.  In  the  latter  the  dates 
have  been  given  throughout  in  the  Old  Style,  thereby 
frequently  causing  confusion  in  the  minds  of  Western 
readers.  In  the  English  version — with  a  few  unimportant 
exceptions  —  the  dates  are  given  according  to  both 
calendars. 

The  most  romantic  episode  of  Tchaikovsky's  life — his 
friendship  extending  over  thirteen  years  with  a  woman  to 
whom  he  never  addressed  a  direct  personal  greeting — is 
told  in  a  series  of  intimate  letters.  In  these  I  have 
spared  all  but  the  most  necessary  abridgements. 

The  account  of  his  tour  in  America,  which  takes  the 
form  of  a  diary  kept  for  the  benefit  of  his  near  relatives, 
cannot  fail  to  amuse  and  interest  all  those  who  remember 
the  favourable  impression  created  by  his  appearance  at 
the  inauguration  of  the  Carnegie  Hall,  New  York,  in 
May,  1891. 

The  illustrations  are  the  same  as  those  published  in  the 
Russian  and  German  publications,  with  two  notable  addi- 
tions :  the  photograph  of  Tchaikovsky  and  Siloti,  and  the 
fine  portrait  by  Kouznietsov. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Grant  Richards  for  permis- 
sion to  republish  the  facsimile  from  the  score  of  the 
Overture  "1812";  also  to  Mr.  W.  W.  Manning  and 
Mr.  Adolf  Brodsky  for  the  kind  loan  of  autographs. 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

In  conclusion,  let  me  say  that  in  planning  and  carrying 
out  this  work  it  is  not  so  much  the  needs  of  the  specialist 
I  have  kept  most  constantly  in  view,  as  those  of  that 
large  section  of  the  musical  public  whose  interest  in  Tchai- 
kovsky has  been  awakened  by  the  sincerely  emotional 
and  human%lements  of  his  music. 

ROSA   NEWMARCH 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PART      I.    CHAPTERS  I.-     V.     1840-1861  .  .        i 

PART     II.     CHAPTERS  I.-  VII.     1861-1866  .  .       30 

PART  III.     CHAPTERS  I.-XIII.     1866-1877  -  •       64 

PART    IV.    CHAPTERS  I.-VIII.     1877-1878  ,  .    204 

PARV     V.     CHAPTERS  I.-  XX.     1878-1885  ,  .     318 

PART   VI.     CHAPTERS  I.-XIII.     1885-1888  .  .    468 

PART  VII.     CHAPTERS  I.- XIX.     1888-1893  .  .     539 

APPENDICES— A,  B,  C    .                .               .  .  .726 

ALPHABETICAL  INDEX  OF  NAMES                 /.  .  -773 

ALPHABETICAL  INDEX  OF  MUSICAL  WORKS  .  >    779 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


r.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1893,  FROM  A  PORTRAIT  BY 

KOUZNIETSOV  .  .  .  Frontispiece 

TO   FACE 

2.  ILIA  PETROVICH  TCHAIKOVSKY,  THE  COMPOSER'S  PAGE 

FATHER,  IN  1860        .              .              ...  4 

3.  THE  HOUSE  IN  WHICH  TCHAIKOVSKY  WAS  BORN,  AT 

VOTINSK       .              .              .              ...  8 

4.  THE  TCHAIKOVSKY  FAMILY  IN  1848,  FROM  A  DAGUERRO- 

TYPE             .              .              .          '    l\         .       .  14 

5.  ALEXANDRA  ANDREIEVNA  TCHAIKOVSKY,  THE  COM- 

POSER'S MOTHER,  IN  1848    ?r,«          :.rg.n        .       .  20 

6.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1859  (VIGNETTE)             ->;i  o    man  26 

7.  THE  COMPOSER'S  FATHER,  WITH  HIS  TWIN  SONS 

MODESTE  AND  ANATOL            .            -  T       ,->.      .  34 

8.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1859  (CARTE  DE  VISITE)    .           .       .  42 

9.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1863                     .            -..          ,       .  56 
10.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1867,  IN  WINTER  DRESS  .           *       .  78 
IT.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1868       .              .              ...  102 

12.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1873       .              .              .           .       .  132 

13.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1874      .              .              .           .       .  150 

14.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1877      .              .              .                  .  214 

15.  FRAGMENT  FROM  A  LETTER,  WITH  SKETCH  FOR  A 

THEME  FOR  "THE  ENCHANTRESS"       .           .       .  482 

16.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1888       .              .              ...  540 

17.  TCHAIKOVSKY  AND  SILOTI              .              .                  .  550 

1 8.  TCHAIKOVSKY'S  HOUSE  AT  FROLOVSKOE      .                  .  560 

19.  THE  HOUSE  IN  WHICH  TCHAIKOVSKY  LIVED  AT  KLIN  .  680 

20.  TCHAIKOVSKY'S  BEDROOM  AT  KLIN             .                  .  694 

21.  SITTING-ROOM  AT  KLIN    .              .              ...  700 

22.  TCHAIKOVSKY  IN  1893  (TAKEN  IN  LONDON)           .       .  708 


"To  regret  the  past,  to  hope  in  the  future,  and 
never  to  be  satisfied  with  the  present — this  is  my 
life."— P.  TCHAIKOVSKY  (Extract from  a  letter} 


THE  LIFE  &  LETTERS 
OF  PETER  ILICH 
TCHAIKOVSKY 


PART  I 

I 

ONE  of  the  most  characteristic  traits  of  Peter 
Ilich   Tchaikovsky  was   his   ironical  attitude 
towards  his  family's  traditions  of  noble  descent. 
He  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  making  fun 
of  their  armorial  bearings,  which  he  regarded  as  "  imagin- 
ary," and  clung  obstinately  to  the  plebeian  origin  of  the 
Tchaikovskys.     This  was  not  merely  the  outcome  of  his 
democratic  convictions,  but  had  its  origin,  partly  in  the 
pride  which  lay  at  the  very  root  of  his  nature,  and  partly 
in  his  excessive  conscientiousness.     He  would  not  con- 
sider himself  a  scion  of  the  aristocracy,  because  his  nearest 
ancestors  could  not  boast  of  one  boyar,  nor  one  owner 
of  patrimonial  estates.     His  father  was  the  sole  serf-owner 
in  the  family,  and  he  possessed  a  cook  with  a  numerous 
progeny — ten  souls  in  all. 

But  if  he  was  unconcerned  as  to  family  descent,  he  was 
far  from  indifferent  as  to  nationality.  The  aristocratic 
pretensions  of  his  relatives  aroused  his  mockery,  but 
the  mere  suggestion  of  their  Polish  origin  stirred  him 


2  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

to  instant  wrath.  Love  of  Russia  and  all  things  Russian 
was  so  deeply  rooted  in  him  that,  while  he  cared  nothing 
for  questions  of  pedigree,  he  rejoiced  to  discover  among 
his  earliest  ancestors  on  his  father's  side  one  orthodox 
Russian  from  the  district  of  Kremenschug. 

Tracing  back  Tchaikovsky's  pedigree,  we  do  not  find 
a  single  name  connected  with  music.  There  is  not  one 
instance  of  a  professional  musician,  and  only  three  can  be 
considered  amateurs — his  mother's  brother,  Michael  Assier; 
her  sister  Catharine,  in  her  day  a  well-known  amateur  in 
Petersburg  society;  and  the  composer's  mother  herself, 
who  sang  the  fashionable  ballads  of  her  youth  with  feeling 
and  expression.  All  the  rest  of  the  family — Assiers  and 
Tchaikovskys  alike — not  only  lacked  musical  talent,  but 
were  indifferent  to  the  art.  Thus  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  ascertain  from  whom  Peter  Ilich  inherited  his  genius, 
if  indeed  there  can  be  any  question  of  heredity.  His  one 
certain  inheritance  seems  to  have  been  an  abnormally 
neurotic  tendency,  which  probably  came  to  him  through 
his  grandfather  Assier,  who  suffered  from  epilepsy.  If 
it  is  true,  as  a  modern  scientist  asserts,  that  "genius"  is 
merely  an  abnormal  physical  condition,  then  it  is  possible 
that  Tchaikovsky  may  have  inherited  his  musical  gift,  at 
the  same  time  as  his  "  nerves,"  from  the  Assier  family. 

Little  is  known  of  the  early  life  of  the  composer's  father, 
Ilia  Petrovich  Tchaikovsky.  In  old  age  he  rarely  spoke 
of  his  youth,  and  did  not  care  to  be  questioned  about  it. 
Not  that  he  had  any  painful  memories  to  conceal,  but 
it  was  his  habit  to  avoid  all  reference  to  himself,  and  only 
to  speak  of  his  past  when  he  had  some  amusing  anecdote 
to  relate,  or  when  he  was  induced  by  others  to  recall  some 
glad,  or  sorrowful,  event  of  bygone  days. 

Ilia  Petrovich  Tchaikovsky  was  educated  at  the  School 
of  Mining  Engineers,  which  he  left  in  1817  at  the  age 
of  twenty-two,  having  been  awarded  the  distinction  of 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  3 

a  silver  medal.  In  the  same  year  he  was  appointed  to  an 
inspectorship  in  the  Mining  and  Geological  Department. 
His  career  cannot  have  been  brilliant,  since  it  took  him 
twenty  years  to  rise  to  the  rank  corresponding  to  a  lieu- 
tenant-colonel. But  the  fact  that  at  thirty  he  was  already 
a  member  of  the  Scientific  Committee  of  the  Institute  of 
Mining  Engineers,  and  lectured  on  mining  law  and  statis- 
tics, proves  him  to  have  been  a  capable  and  industrious 
member  of  his  profession. 

In  private  life,  all  who  knew  him  agreed  as  to  his  sym- 
pathetic, jovial,  and  straightforward  character.  Benevolence 
— or  more  correctly  speaking,  a  universal  affection — was 
one  of  his  chief  characteristics.  In  youth,  manhood,  and  old 
age  he  loved  his  neighbour,  and  his  faith  in  him  remained 
unshaken.  His  trustfulness  knew  no  limits  ;  and  even  the 
loss  of  his  entire  fortune,  due  to  misplaced  confidence,  did 
not  avail  to  make  him  suspicious  of  his  fellow-men.  To 
the  end  of  his  days,  everyone  he  met  was  "  an  excellent, 
honourable,  good  fellow."  Disillusionment  cut  him  to  the 
quick,  but  had  no  power  to  obscure  his  rosy  views  of 
human  nature.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  man  who 
possessed  so  many  devoted  friends. 

Although  a  capable  specialist,  as  regards  general  culture 
and  intelligence  Ilia  Petrovich  had  only  a  mediocre  equip- 
ment. He  had  no  great  taste  for  art  and  science.  Music 
and  the  drama  interested  him  most.  In  his  youth  he 
played  the  flute  a  little,  but  gave  it  up  early  in  life. 

On  September  nth  (23rd),  1827,  Ilia  Petrovich  married 
Maria  Carlovna  Keiser,  by  whom  he  had  one  daughter. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  was  left  a  widower  and,  in  October, 
1833,  married,  for  a  second  time,  Alexandra  Andreievna 
Assier. 

Almost  as  little  is  known  of  the  childhood  and  youth 
of  the  composer's  mother  as  of  his  father.  As  early  as 
1816  she  was  left  motherless,  and  was  brought  up  in  a 
Female  Orphanage,  where  she  completed  her  education  in 


4  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

1829.  The  instruction  in  this  school  appears  to  have  been 
excellent.  Alexandra  Andreievna  had  a  thorough  know- 
ledge of  French  and  German.  In  addition,  she  played 
the  piano  a  little  and  sang  nicely.  A  satisfactory  educa- 
tion for  a  girl  who  had  neither  means  nor  position. 

Those  who  knew  the  composer's  mother  describe  her  as 
tall  and  distinguished-looking;  not  precisely  handsome, 
but  with  wonderfully  expressive  eyes.  All  agreed  that 
there  was  something  particularly  attractive  in  her  appear- 
ance. Peter  Ilich  recollected  his  mother  as  a  tall  woman, 
inclined  to  be  stout,  with  wonderful  eyes  and  beautiful 
hands,  although  by  no  means  small.  "  Such  hands  do  not 
exist  nowadays,  and  never  will  again,"  he  used  to  say  in 
after  life. 

Alexandra  Andreievna,  unlike  her  husband,  was  rather 
reserved  and  chary  of  endearments.  Her  kindness,  as 
compared  to  his  universal  amiability,  seemed  somewhat 
austere,  and  showed  itself  more  frequently  in  act  than  in 
speech.  The  first  child  of  this  marriage  was  a  daughter 
who  died  in  infancy. 

In  1837  Ilia  Tchaikovsky  was  appointed  inspector  of 
the  mines  at  Kamsko-Votinsk,  in  the  Government  of 
Viatka,  where  he  settled  with  his  wife.  On  May  Qth 
(2 ist),  1838,  a  son  was  born  to  them — Nicholas  Ilich; 
while  on  April  28th  (May  loth),  1840,  a  second  son  came 
into  the  world — Peter  Ilich — the  subject  of  this  biography. 

The  position  of  manager  in  the  case  of  such  important 
mines  as  those  of  Votinsk  closely  resembled  that  of  a 
wealthy  landowner  living  on  his  estate.  In  some  respects 
it  was  even  more  advantageous,  because  he  had  every 
luxury  in  life  provided  for  him  :  a  fine  house,  a  staff  of 
servants,  and  almost  unlimited  control  over  a  number  of 
human  beings.  Ilia  Tchaikovsky  even  had  at  command  a 
small  army  of  a  hundred  Cossacks,  and  a  little  court,  con- 
sisting of  such  employes  in  the  mines  as  had  any  claim 


ILIA    PETROVICH    TCHAIKOVSKY,    THE    COMPOSER'S    FATHER,    IN    i860 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  5 

to  social  position.  The  fine  salary,  thanks  to  the  wise 
economy  of  his  wife,  sufficed  not  only  for  every  comfort, 
but  even  admitted  of  something  being  put  by  for  less 
prosperous  times. 

The  allowance  provided  for  social  purposes  sufficed  for 
widespread  hospitality,  and,  owing  to  the  affability  of  the 
host,  and  the  characteristic  charm  of  his  wife,  the  Tchai- 
kovskys'  house  was  the  favourite  resort  of  all  the  neigh- 
bouring society.  This  circle  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  uncultured  provincial  society  of  those  days.  It  was 
composed  chiefly  of  young  men  from  St.  Petersburg,  hold- 
ing various  Government  appointments  in  the  district,  and 
of  one  highly  intellectual  English  family.  The  proximity 
of  Asia  and  the  remoteness  from  civilised  centres  were 
scarcely  perceptible. 

About  the  period  of  Peter  Ilich's  earliest  recollections, 
two  new  members  were  added  to  the  Tchaikovsky  family 
— a  girl,  Alexandra,  born  December  28th,  1842  (January 
9th,  1843),  and  a  son,  Hyppolite,  born  April  loth  (22nd), 
1844.  The  care  of  the  younger  children  now  so  exclu- 
sively occupied  the  mother's  attention  that  she  was  obliged 
to  engage  a  governess  for  her  eldest  son,  Nicholas,  and  a 
niece,  Lydia,  who  lived  with  the  family.  While  on  a  visit 
to  St.  Petersburg  she  became  acquainted  with  Fanny 
Durbach,  and  brought  her  back  to  Votinsk  in  November, 
1844. 

In  view  of  the  lasting  influence  which  her  personality 
exercised  upon  Peter  Ilich,  some  account  of  this  lady 
should  be  given  here. 

Fanny  Durbach  had  been  specially  trained  as  a  teacher, 
and  had  already  had  some  experience  in  her  work.  She 
knew  French  and  German  thoroughly,  and  was  a  strict 
Protestant.  She  is  still  living  at  Montbeillard,  near 
Belfort,  where  she  continues  to  give  lessons.  The  poverty 
in  which  she  lived  impressed  me  still  more  on  my  visit  to 
her  in  1894,  because  I  knew  that  two  years  earlier  my 


6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

brother  Peter  Ilich  had  implored  her  to  accept  a  regular 
allowance,  which  she  absolutely  refused.  "  I  am  content 
with  what  I  have,"  she  told  him ;  "  as  far  as  I  can  be,  after 
the  heavy  blows  fate  has  dealt  me,  I  am  happy."  The 
expression  of  her  face,  wonderfully  young  for  a  woman 
of  seventy-two,  and  the  light  in  her  large  black  eyes, 
bespoke  such  true  peace  of  mind  and  purity  of  heart  that 
I  felt  sure  neither  her  physical  ailments,  nor  the  lack  of 
luxury  in  her  surroundings,  had  power  to  darken  the  light 
of  her  declining  days. 

Although  Fanny  Diirbach's  connection  with  the  Tchai- 
kovsky family  lasted  only  four  years,  her  memory  lives 
with  them  to-day,  while  all  her  successors  have  long  been 
forgotten.  She,  too,  had  retained  a  vivid  recollection  of 
"the  happiest  time  in  her  life,"  and  her  account  of  her 
arrival  at  Votinsk  gives  an  animated  picture  of  the 
patriarchal  life  of  the  Tchaikovsky  family. 

"  I  travelled  from  Petersburg  with  Madame  Tchai- 
kovsky and  her  son  Nicholas.  The  journey  took  three 
weeks,  during  which  time  we  became  so  friendly  that  we 
were  quite  intimate  on  our  arrival.  All  the  same,  I  felt 
very  shy.  Had  it  only  depended  upon  Madame  Tchai- 
kovsky and  her  boy,  all  had  been  well ;  but  there  was 
still  the  prospect  of  meeting  strangers  and  facing  new 
conditions  of  life.  The  nearer  we  drew  to  the  journey's  end, 
the  more  restless  and  anxious  I  became.  On  our  arrival, 
a  single  moment  sufficed  to  dispel  all  my  fears.  A  number 
of  people  came  out  to  meet  us,  and  in  the  general  greet- 
ing and  embracing  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish  relatives 
from  servants.  All  fraternised  in  the  sincerity  of  their 
joy.  The  head  of  the  family  kissed  me  without  ceremony, 
as  though  I  had  been  his  daughter.  It  seemed  less  like  a 
first  arrival  than  a  return  home.  The  next  morning  I  began 
my  work  without  any  misgivings  for  the  future." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 


II 

Peter  Ilich  was  four  and  a  half  years  old  when  Fanny 
came  to  be  governess  to  Nicholas  and  his  cousin  Lydia, 
and  on  the  first  day  his  mother  had  to  yield  to  his  tearful 
entreaties  to  share  the  lessons  of  the  elder  children.  Hence- 
forward he  always  learnt  with  them,  and  resented  being 
excused  any  task  on  the  grounds  of  his  youth.  He  was 
wonderfully  quick  in  overtaking  his  fellow-pupils,  and  at 
six  could  read  French  and  German  fluently.  He  learnt 
Russian  with  a  tutor. 

From  the  beginning,  Fanny  was  especially  attracted  by 
her  youngest  pupil ;  not  only  because  he  was  more  gifted 
and  conscientious  than  the  others,  nor  because  he  was  more 
docile  than  Nicholas,  but  because  in  all  the  child's. ways 
there  was  something  original  and  uncommon,  which  exer- 
cised an  indefinable  charm  on  everyone  who  came  in  con- 
tact with  him. 

In  looks  he  did  not  compare  favourably  with  Nicholas, 
and  was  never  so  clean  and  tidy.  His  clothes  were  always 
in  disorder.  Either  he  had  stained  them  in  his  absent- 
mindedness,  or  buttons  were  missing,  or  his  hair  was  only 
half-brushed,  so  that  by  the  side  of  his  spruce  and  impec- 
cable brother  he  did  not  show  to  advantage  at  first  sight. 
But  when  the  charm  of  his  mind,  and  still  more  of  his 
heart,  had  time  to  work,  it  was  impossible  not  to  prefer 
him  to  the  other  children.  This  sympathetic  charm,  this 
gift  of  winning  all  hearts,  Tchaikovsky  retained  to  the  last 
day  of  his  life. 

To  my  inquiry  in  what  way  the  boy's  charm  showed 
itself  most,  our  old  governess  replied : — 

"In  no  one  particular  thing,  but  rather  in  all  his  ways 
and  actions.  At  lessons  no  child  was  more  industrious  or 


8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

quicker  to  understand;  in  playtime  none  was  so  full  of  fun. 
When  we  read  together  none  listened  so  attentively  as  he 
did,  and  when  on  holidays  I  gathered  my  pupils  around 
me  in  the  twilight  and  let  them  tell  tales  in  turn,  no  one 
could  improvise  so  well  as  Peter  Ilich.  I  shall  never  forget 
these  precious  hours  of  my  life.  In  daily  intercourse  we  all 
loved  him,  because  we  felt  he  loved  us  in  return.  His 
sensibility  was  extreme,  therefore  I  had  to  be  very  careful 
how  I  treated  him.  A  trifle  wounded  him  deeply.  He  was 
brittle  as  porcelain.  With  him  there  could  be  no  question 
of  punishment ;  the  least  criticism  or  reproof,  that  would 
pass  lightly  over  other  children,  would  upset  him  alarm- 
ingly." 

The  weak  and  unhappy  always  found  in  him  a  staunch 
protector.  Once  he  heard  with  indignation  that  someone 
was  intending  to  drown  a  cat.  When  he  discovered  the 
monster  who  was  planning  this  crime,  he  pleaded  so 
eloquently  that  pussy's  life  was  saved. 

Another  proof  of  his  compassion  for  the  suffering  was  his 
extraordinary  sympathy  for  Louis  XVII.  Even  as  a  grown 
man  his  interest  in  the  unhappy  prince  survived.  In  1868 
he  bought  a  picture  representing  him  in  the  Temple,  and 
had  it  framed.  This  picture,  and  the  portrait  of  Anton 
Rubinstein,  remained  for  a  long  while  the  only  adornments 
of  his  walls. 

The  boy  was  also  influenced  by  that  enthusiastic  patriot- 
ism— not  without  a  touch  of  Chauvinism — which  character- 
ised the  reign  of  Nicholas  I.  From  this  early  period  dates 
that  exclusive  affection  for  everything  Russian  which  lasted 
his  whole  lifetime.  Sometimes  his  love  for  his  country  was 
shown  in  a  very  droll  way.  Fanny  used  to  relate  the 
following  story : — 

"  Once,  during  the  recreation  hour,  he  was  turning  over 
the  pages  of  his  atlas.  Coming  to  the  map  of  Europe,  he 
smothered  Russia  with  kisses  and  spat  on  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  When  I  told  him  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  such 
behaviour,  that  it  was  wicked  to  hate  his  fellow-men  who 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  9 

said  the  same  '  Our  Father '  as  himself,  only  because  they 
were  not  Russians,  and  reminded  him  that  he  was  spitting 
upon  his  own  Fanny,  who  was  a  Frenchwoman,  he  replied 
at  once  :  '  There  is  no  need  to  scold  me  ;  didn't  you  see  me 
cover  France  with  my  hand  first  ? ' " 

Continuing  her  reminiscences,  Fanny  said  : — 

"  As  our  leisure  hours  were  few,  I  insisted  on  devoting 
them  to  physical  exercise;  but  often  I  met  with  some 
opposition  from  Pierre,  who  would  go  straight  from  his 
lessons  to  the  piano.  Otherwise  he  was  obedient,  and 
generally  enjoyed  romping  with  his  sisters.  Left  to  him- 
self, he  preferred  to  play  the  piano,  or  to  read  and  write 
poetry." 

In  the  autumn  of  1846  his  half-sister  Zinai'da  left  the 
Catharine  Institute,  in  St.  Petersburg,  and,  her  education 
being  finished,  returned  to  live  at  home.  With  the  arrival 
of  this  pretty  and  lively  school-girl  the  house  became  even 
merrier  and  brighter  than  before.  To  the  boy's  imagina- 
tion, the  new-comer  seemed  a  visitant  from  a  fairy  world. 

In  February,  1848,  Ilia  Tchaikovsky  retired  with  the 
rank  of  major-general.  He  was  anxious  to  get  an  ap- 
pointment as  manager  of  private  mines,  and  with  this 
object  in  view  left  Votinsk,  with  all  his  family,  for  a  long 
visit  to  Moscow.  As  it  was  intended  on  their  arrival  to 
send  Lydia  and  the  elder  boys  to  school,  Fanny  now  took 
leave  of  her  friends  for  good.  Not  until  forty-four  years 
had  elapsed  did  she  renew  her  acquaintance  with  the 
family  in  the  person  of  Peter  Ilich. 

Besides  Fanny's  reminiscences,  which  form  so  valuable 
an  addition  to  the  biography  of  Tchaikovsky,  she  also 
preserved  the  books  in  which  her  favourite  pupil  set  down 
his  thoughts  in  leisure  hours ;  more  often  than  not  in  the 
form  of  verse.  The  old  lady  could  not  be  persuaded  to  let 
these  relics  leave  her  keeping,  but  she  willingly  made 
extracts  from  them. 


io  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

These  manuscript  books  naturally  contain  nothing  of 
real  artistic  or  literary  value,  but  they  are  not  the  less 
interesting  on  that  account.  They  show  the  origin  and 
give  the  explanation  of  Tchaikovsky's  artistic  tendency, 
and  are  not  merely  interesting  from  a  biographical  point 
of  view,  but  as  documents  in  which  we  may  study  the 
evolution  of  genius.  These  childish  verses  prove  a  pre- 
cocious desire  for  expression,  before  the  right  medium 
had  been  discovered.  Here  the  future  musician  is  knock- 
ing at  the  wrong  door. 

There  are  two  copy-books  and  a  few  loose  pages.  The 
handwriting,  although  not  beautiful,  is  well  formed  and 
firm.  The  pages  show  traces  of  carelessness.  They 
would  have  been  very  differently  written,  had  they  been 
intended  for  other  eyes  than  his  own.  We  find  here  a 
miscellany  of  verses,  extracts,  rough  copies  of  letters, 
attempts  to  draw  houses,  odd  words  and  phrases,  all  jotted 
down  without  any  connection. 

The  first  book  opens  with  a  translation  from  a  French 
reading-primer,  Ltducation  maternelle.  It  bears  the  date 
1847,  with  a  French  signature,  and  is  followed  by  several 
poems,  of  which  two  are  in  Russian  and  the  rest  in  French. 
They  may  be  divided  into  three  groups  :  the  poems  relating 
to  God  ;  those  which  have  a  patriotic  tendency ;  and  those 
which  display  his  sympathy  for  the  weak  and  suffering  and 
his  love  of  animals. 

The  first  poem,  dated  1 847,  is  called : 

L'ENFANT  PARLE   A  SON  ANGE  GARDIEN 

Tez  ailes  dories  ont  void  chez  moi  (?) 

Ta  voi  m'a  parler 

O  !  que  j'etais  heureuse 

Quant  tu  venait  chez  moi 

Tes  ailes  son  blanc  et  pur  aussi 

Viens  encore  une/0/> 

Pour  parler  de  Dieu  puissant ! 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  u 

Later  on  come  some  notes  headed :  "  La  force,  1'activite." 
"  II  avait  dans  sa  vie  la  force  et  1'activite  !  " 

When  we  recollect  the  ebullient  activity  of  Peter  Ilich's 
musical  career,  and  his  unflagging  energy,  we  cannot  help 
giving  to  these  fortuitous  entries,  if  not  a  predictive  signifi- 
cance, at  least  that  of  a  conscious  homage  to  the  qualities 
he  most  admired. 

His  patriotic  ardour  found  vent  in  four  poems,  dated 
1847,  of  which  the  following  is  a  specimen : 

Terre  !  apresent  tu  est  loin  de  moi 

Je  ne  te  voi  plus,  o  patrie  cherie  ! 

Je  t'embrasse.     O  !  pays  adores 

Toi,  oh  Russie  aitnt 

Vien  !  men  /  aupre  de  moi 

Toi,  place  ou  je  suis  nd 

Je  te  salut !  oh,  terre  cherie 

Longtemps  quand  je  suis  ne' 

Je  n'avais  ni  memoire,  ni  raison 

Ni  de  dons  pour  parler 

Oh,  je  ne  savais  pas  que  ma  Patrie  est  Russie  ! 

He  also  attempted  an  historical  essay  in  verse  on  Joan 
of  Arc,  whom  he  had  learnt  to  know  from  Masson's  Les 
En/ants  cttebres.  It  is  entitled  : 

THE   HEROINE  OF  FRANCE 

On  t'aime,  on  ne  t'oublie  pas 

Heroine  si  belle  ! 

Tu  as  sauvd  la  France 

Fille  d'un  berger ! 

Mais  qui  fait  ces  actions  si  belles  ! 

Barbare  anglais  vous  ont  tue*e, 

Toute  la  France  vous  admire 

Tes  cheveux  blonds  jusqu'a  tes  genoux 

Us  sont  tres  beau 

Tu  dtais  si  ce*lebre 

Que  1'ange  Michel  t'apparut. 

Les  ce*lebres  on  pense  a  eux 

Les  mechants  on  les  oublie  ! 


12  LIFE    AND   LETTERS    OF 

After  1848  there  are  no  more  poetical  effusions,  perhaps 
because  Fanny  was  no  longer  there  to  preserve  such  docu- 
ments; but  more  probably  because  the  boy  had  just  begun 
to  discover  in  music  a  new  medium  for  the  expression  of 
his  sentiments. 

At  Votinsk  there  were  no  musicians,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  indifferent  amateur  pianists.  The  mother  sang  a 
little,  but  only  played  the  piano  for  her  children  to  dance 
to ;  at  least,  from  the  time  of  her  marriage,  we  never  hear 
of  a  more  serious  repertoire.  No  other  member  of  the 
household  could  do  even  as  much.  Unfortunately  Fanny 
was  not  at  all  musical,  so  that  the  place  of  music  master 
to  the  future  composer  fell  to  the  lot  of  an  inanimate 
object — an  orchestrion  which  his  father  brought  home 
with  him  after  a  visit  to  St.  Petersburg. 

This  orchestrion  was  a  superior  one,  with  a  varied 
programme.  Peter  Ilich  himself  considered  that  he  owed 
his  first  musical  impressions  to  this  instrument,  which  he 
was  never  tired  of  hearing.  A  composition  by  Mozart 
had  a  particular  fascination  for  him,  and  his  passionate 
worship  of  this  master  dates  from  this  period  of  child- 
hood, when  Zerlina's  "  Aria,"  or  any  melody  from  Don 
Juan>  played  by  the  orchestrion,  awoke  in  him  "  a  beatific 
rapture."  Thanks  to  this  instrument,  he  first  became 
acquainted  with  the  music  of  Bellini  and  Donizetti,  so 
that  even  the  love  of  Italian  opera,  which  he  cherished 
all  his  life,  may  be  said  to  have  originated  in  the  same 
way. 

Very  early  in  life  he  displayed  a  remarkable  ear  and 
quick  musical  perception.  No  sooner  had  he  acquired 
some  rudimentary  knowledge  from  his  mother,  than  he 
could  repeat  upon  the  piano  all  he  heard  on  the  orches- 
trion. He  found  such  delight  in  playing  that  it  was 
frequently  necessary  to  drag  him  by  force  from  the 
instrument.  Afterwards,  as  the  next  best  substitute,  he 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  13 

would  take  to  drumming  tunes  upon  the  window-panes. 
One  day,  while  thus  engaged,  he  was  so  entirely  carried 
away  by  this  dumb  show  that  he  broke  the  glass  and 
cut  his  hand  severely.  This  accident  led  his  parents  to 
reflect  upon  the  child's  incurable  tendency  and  consider 
the  question  of  his  musical  education.  They  decided  to 
engage  as  pianoforte  teacher  a  young  lady  called  Marie 
Markovna  Palchikov.  This  was  about  a  year  after  Fanny's 
arrival.  Where  this  teacher  came  from,  and  how  far  she 
understood  her  business,  we  cannot  say.  We  only  know 
she  came  on  purpose  to  teach  Peter  Ilich,  who  kept  a 
pleasant  recollection  of  her.  But  she  cannot  entirely  have 
satisfied  the  requirements  of  the  future  composer,  because 
already  in  1848  he  could  read  at  sight  as  easily  as  she 
did.  Nor  can  her  knowledge  of  musical  literature  have 
been  extensive,  for  her  pupil  could  not  remember  a  single 
item  in  her  repertory. 

We  know  from  Fanny's  own  testimony  that  the  boy 
spent  every  spare  moment  at  the  piano,  and  that  she  did 
her  utmost  to  prevent  it.  A  musician's  life  did  not  offer 
to  her  mind  a  radiant  prospect.  She  took  more  pleasure 
in  her  pupil's  literary  efforts,  and  called  him  in  fun  "  the 
juvenile  Poushkin."  She  also  observed  that  music  had  a 
great  effect  upon  his  nervous  system.  After  his  music 
lesson,  or  after  having  improvised  for  any  length  of  time, 
he  was  invariably  overwrought  and  excited.  One  evening 
the  Tchaikovskys  gave  a  musical  party  at  which  the 
children  were  allowed  to  be  present.  At  first  Peter  Ilich 
was  very  happy,  but  before  the  end  of  the  evening  he 
grew  so  tired  that  he  went  to  bed  before  the  others. 
When  Fanny  visited  his  room  she  found  him  wide  awake, 
sitting  up  in  bed  with  bright,  feverish  eyes,  and  crying  to 
himself.  Asked  what  was  the  matter,  he  replied,  although 
there  was  no  music  going  on  at  the  time :  "  Oh,  this  music, 
this  music !  Save  me  from  it !  It  is  here,  here,"  pointing 
to  his  head,  "  and  will  not  give  me  any  peace." 


I4  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Occasionally  a  Polish  officer  visited  Votinsk.  He  was 
an  excellent  amateur  and  played  Chopin's  "Mazurkas" 
particularly  well.  His  coming  was  a  red-letter  day  for 
Peter  Ilich.  Once  he  learnt  two  mazurkas  all  by  himself, 
and  played  them  so  charmingly  that  the  officer  kissed  him 
when  he  had  done.  "  I  never  saw  Pierre  so  radiantly 
happy  as  that  day,"  says  Fanny. 

This  is  all  I  have  been  able  to  glean  with  regard  to 
Peter  Ilich's  musical  development  at  this  period  of  his 
life. 


Ill 

The  Tchaikovsky  family  arrived  in  Moscow  early  in 
October,  1848.  Here  they  were  predestined  to  misfortune 
and  disappointment.  The  father  had  confided  to  one  of  his 
friends  at  Votinsk  that  he  had  received  the  offer  of  a  fine 
appointment.  On  arriving  in  Moscow,  he  discovered  that 
the  treacherous  friend  had  betrayed  his  confidence  and 
made  use  of  the  information  to  secure  the  tempting  berth 
for  himself.  Added  to  this,  an  epidemic  of  cholera  had 
just  broken  out  in  the  town,  and  the  children's  maid 
nearly  fell  a  victim  to  the  disease.  The  uncertainty  of 
their  position,  the  absence  of  their  father — who,  on  hearing 
of  the  trick  which  had  been  played  him,  hastened  to 
Petersburg — the  grim  spectre  of  the  cholera,  all  combined 
to  make  their  sojourn  in  Moscow  anything  but  a  happy 
one.  These  things  cut  deep  into  the  sensitive  disposition 
of  Peter  Ilich.  Just  at  this  moment  he  stood  in  the  greatest 
need  of  loving  and  careful  supervision,  and  yet  at  no  time 
did  he  suffer  more  from  neglect,  for  his  mother  was  too 
preoccupied,  and  too  anxious  about  the  future  of  the  family, 
to  spare  time  and  consideration  for  the  moods  of  its  indi- 
vidual members.  The  children  were  left  to  her  stepdaugh- 
ter, herself  still  half  a  child,  and  devoid  of  all  experience. 


THE   TCHAIKOVSKY    FAMILY    IN    1848 

PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY.       ALEXANDRA    ANUREIEVNA   (THE   MOTHER).       ZINA1DA    ILYINICHA. 

NICHOLAS    ILICH.       HYPPOLITE    ILICH.       ILIA    PETKOVICH  (THE    FATHER). 

7.   ALEXANDRA    ILYINICHA.    (CENTRE) 

From  an  old  Dagnerrotype) 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  15 

ZinaTda  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  make  a  pet  of  Peter, 
and  it  seems  more  than  probable  that  the  young  poet 
found  her  anything  but  a  just  and  patient  teacher.  Under 
these  circumstances  his  recollections  of  the  happy  past 
became  more  and  more  idealised,  and  his  retrospective 
yearnings  more  intense. 

Early  in  November  the  family  removed  to  Petersburg 
and  took  up  their  abode  on  the  Vassily  Ostrov,  near  the 
Exchange. 

Here  their  first  impressions  were  more  favourable  than 
in  Moscow.  The  modern  capital  was  the  mother's  native 
place,  and  almost  like  home  to  the  father.  Both  had  many 
friends  and  relatives  residing  there.  No  unexpected  dis- 
agreeables awaited  them  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  they  settled 
down  once  again  to  a  peaceful  home  life. 

But  now  the  real  trials  of  life  began  for  Peter  Ilich. 
Immediately  after  their  arrival,  he  and  his  brother  Nicholas 
were  sent  to  a  boarding-school.  From  Fanny's  tender 
care  they  passed  straight  into  the  hands  of  an  unsym- 
pathetic teacher,  and  found  themselves  among  a  host  of 
boys,  who  received  the  new-comers  with  the  customary 
greeting  of  whacks  and  thumps.  The  work,  too,  was  very 
hard.  They  left  home  at  eight  in  the  morning  and  did 
not  return  till  five  in  the  afternoon.  The  home  preparation 
was  so  severe  that  sometimes  the  boys  sat  over  their  books 
till  midnight.  Besides  all  this,  Peter  had  regular  music 
lessons  with  the  pianist  Philipov.  Judging  from  the  rapid 
progress  he  made  in  a  short  time,  this  teacher  must  have 
been  thoroughly  competent.  Such  hard  work  was  very 
fatiguing,  especially  as  the  boys  were  drinking  in  new 
aesthetic  impressions  at  the  same  time.  The  Tchaikovskys 
frequently  took  the  children  to  the  opera  and  theatre. 

If  the  singing  and  playing  of  mediocre  amateurs  had 
excited  the  future  composer  to  such  an  extent  that  their 
music  haunted  him  for  hours  ;  if  a  mechanical  organ  could 
completely  enchant  him — how  infinitely  more  intense  must 


16  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

have  been  the  first  impression  made  by  a  full  orchestra! 
What  an  agitation,  and  at  the  same  time  what  an  unhealthy 
stimulus  to  his  over-sensibility  ! 

This  nervous  tension  began  to  be  apparent,  not  only  in 
his  pallor  and  emaciation,  but  in  frequent  ailments  that  kept 
him  from  school.  There  was  also  a  moral  reaction,  and 
the  boy  became  capricious,  irritable,  and  unlike  his  former 
self. 

In  December  both  brothers  had  measles  ;  but  while 
in  Nicholas  the  ailment  ran  its  usual  course,  Peter's 
nervous  irritability  was  much  increased  by  the  illness,  and 
the  doctors  believed  he  was  suffering  from  some  spinal 
trouble.  All  work  was  forbidden,  and  the  invalid  rested 
until  June,  1849.  After  a  time,  quiet  and  freedom  from 
lessons  improved  the  boy's  physical  health,  but  his  moral 
character  did  not  entirely  regain  its  former  cheerful 
serenity.  The  wound  was  healed,  but  the  scar  remained. 


Early  in  1849  ^ISL  Tchaikovsky  was  appointed  manager 
of  works  on  the  Yakovliev  property  at  Alapaiev  and 
Nijny-Neviansk. 

Having  left  his  eldest  son  at  a  boarding-school,  to  be 
prepared  for  the  School  of  Mining  Engineers,  he  quitted 
Petersburg  with  the  rest  of  his  family,  and  settled  in  the 
little  town  of  Alapaiev. 

The  position  was  not  so  brilliant  as  the  one  he  had  held 
under  the  Government,  but  the  house  was  roomy  and  com- 
fortable, and  the  Tchaikovskys  soon  made  themselves  at 
home  and  endeavoured  to  revive  the  patriarchal  style  in 
which  they  had  lived  at  Votinsk. 

The  change  from  St.  Petersburg,  while  it  proved  bene- 
ficial to  Peter's  health,  did  not  cure  his  indolence,  ca- 
priciousness,  and  irritability.  On  the  contrary,  they 
seemed  to  increase,  because  his  present  surroundings 
suggested  comparisons  with  his  ideal  life  at  Votinsk, 
which  were  unfavourable  to  Alapaiev.  He  was  lonely, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  17 

for  he  missed  Nicholas  ;  although  at  the  same  time  he  was 
jealous  of  the  continual  congratulations  over  each  letter 
which  came  from  Petersburg,  announcing  his  brother's 
progress  and  success.  The  family  were  delighted,  and 
compared  him  with  Peter,  whose  studies  did  not  progress 
rapidly  under  such  an  indifferent  teacher  as  Zinaida. 
"  Pierre  is  not  himself,"  wrote  his  mother  at  this  time. 
"  He  has  grown  idle,  learns  nothing,  and  often  makes  me 
cry  with  vexation." 

Even  Peter  himself  confesses  his  indolence  in  a  letter 
dated  July  ;th  (ipth)  :— 

"  MA  CHERE  M-ELLE  FANNY, — Je  vous  prie  beaucoup 
de  me  pardonner  que  je  ne  vous  ai  ecrit  si  longtemps. 
Mais  comme  vous  savez  que  je  ne  ment  pas,  c'est  ma 
paresse  qui  en  est  cause,  mais  ce  n'est  pas  I'oublie,  parceque 
je  Vous  aime  toujours  comme  je  vous  aimez  avant. 
Nicholas  apprend  tres  bien."1 

Receiving  no  reply  to  this,  he  wrote  again  at  the  end  of 
June.  At  last  an  answer  came,  in  which,  apparently, 
Fanny  scolded  her  old  pupil,  for  one  of  his  cousins  wrote 
at  this  time :  "  When  your  letter  came,  Aunty  read  it 
aloud,  and  Peterkin  cried  bitterly.  He  loves  you  so." 

A  real  improvement  in  the  boy's  character  dated  from 
the  arrival  of  a  new  governess,  Nastasia  Petrov.  His 
mother  was  soon  able  to  report  to  Fanny  that  "  Pierre  is 
behaving  better  and  learns  willingly  with  his  new  teacher." 

On  May  1st  (i3th),  1850,  twin  boys  were  added  to  the 
Tchaikovsky  family — Anatol  and  Modeste.  Peter  Ilich 
informed  Fanny  of  the  event  in  the  following  letter : — 

"[ALAPAIEV,  May  2nd  (14^),  1850.] 

"CHERE  ET  BONNE  MELLE  FANNY,— C'est  avec  une 
grande  joie  que  j'ai  appris  la  nouvelle  que  vous  avez  un 

1  MY  DEAR  Miss  FANNY, — I  beg  you  to  forgive  me  for  not  having  written 
all  this  time.  But  as  you  know  I  do  not  tell  lies,  it  is  my  laziness  that  is  the 
cause,  not  forgetf nines  st  because  I  love  you  the  same  as  before.  Nicholas 
works  very  well,  etc. 


i8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

e"leve  siban  et  si  diligent.  Je  veux  aussi  Vous  apprendre, 
ma  chere  Fanny,  une  nouvelle  qui  peutetre  Vous  rejouira 
un  peu  ;  c'est  la  naissance  de  mes  freres  qui  sont  jumeaux 
(la  nuit  du  premier  Mai).  Je  les  ai  deja  vus  plusieurs  fois, 
mais  chaque  fois  que  je  les  vois  je  crois  que  ce  sont  des 
Anges  qui  ont  descendu  sur  la  terre."1 

Meanwhile  he  had  made  great  progress  in  music.  No 
doubt  he  had  profited  greatly  by  Philipov's  instruction,  as 
well  as  by  the  other  musical  impressions  he  had  received 
in  Petersburg.  Now,  he  not  only  played  the  pieces  he  was 
learning,  but  would  often  improvise,  "just  for  myself  alone 
when  I  feel  sad,"  as  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters.  His 
musical  idiom  was  growing  richer,  and  music  had  become 
to  him  what  poetry  had  been  at  Votinsk.  Henceforth  we 
hear  no  more  about  verses.  He  had  found  the  right 
medium  of  expression  for  all  that  was  in  his  soul.  About 
this  time  he  began  to  compose,  although  his  attempts  were 
merely  improvisations.  Musical  sounds,  according  to  his 
own  account,  followed  him  everywhere,  whatever  he  was 
doing.  His  parents  did  nothing,  however,  to  further  his 
musical  education,  partly  because  they  were  afraid  of  a 
return  of  his  nervous  disorder,  and  partly  because  they 
had  no  intention  of  making  their  son  a  professional 
musician.  No  one  at  Alapaiev  took  any  interest  in  his 
musical  talent,  and  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself;  either 
from  pride,  or  because  as  yet  he  had  no  great  confidence 
in  his  own  gifts.  The  fact  that  his  character  was  changing 
may  also  have  had  something  to  do  with  his  reserve.  He 
felt  he  possessed  something  that  none  of  his  associates 
could  share,  and,  inwardly  conscious  of  his  power,  he  was 
mortified  that  it  should  pass  unobserved,  and  that  no  one 
should  be  interested  in  his  artistic  aspirations. 

1  DEAR,  GOOD  Miss  FANNY,— It  is  with  great  joy  I  hear  the  news  of  your 
having  so  good  and  industrious  a  pupil.  I  want  also  to  give  you  some  news, 
my  dear  Fanny,  which  may  please  you  a  little ;  it  is  of  the  birth  of  my  twin 
brothers  (on  the  night  of  May  1st).  I  have  already  seen  them  several  times, 
but  each  time  I  think  they  are  angels  descended  to  earth. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  19 

When  he  went  to  St.  Petersburg  for  the  second  time,  he 
was  no  longer  a  child.  His  natural  qualities  were  unchanged, 
but  experience  had  somewhat  hardened  him.  He  was  better 
fitted  for  the  battle  of  life,  but  his  susceptibilities  and  his 
enthusiasms  were  a  trifle  blunted. 

His  young  life  had  already  a  past,  for  he  had  learnt  to 
suffer.  Nor  did  the  future  appear  any  more  in  a  rainbow 
glory,  since  he  realised  that  it  would  bring  renunciation  as 
well  as  joy.  But  he  carried  a  treasure  in  his  heart,  a  light 
hidden  from  all  eyes  but  his  own,  which  was  to  bring  him 
comfort  and  courage  in  the  hour  of  trial. 


IV 

Early  in  August,  1850,  Madame  Tchaikovsky  went  to 
Petersburg,  accompanied  by  her  daughter,  her  stepdaugh- 
ter, and  Peter  Ilich. 

The  parents  had  originally  intended  to  place  both  their 
sons  at  the  School  of  Mining  Engineers.  Their  reason  for 
altering  this  plan  and  sending  Peter  to  the  School  of  Juris- 
prudence has  not  transpired.  Probably  it  was  highly  recom- 
mended to  them  by  an  old  friend  of  Ilia  Tchaikovsky's, 
M.  A.  Vakar,  who  had  already  the  charge  of  Nicholas.  This 
gentleman's  brother,  Plato  Vakar,  who  was  to  play  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  life  of  Peter  Ilich,  was  a  lawyer,  a  fine 
man  with  a  brilliant  career  in  prospect.  It  is  not  at  all 
improbable  that  the  Tchaikovskys  resolved  to  send  their 
son  to  the  school  of  which  he  was  such  an  admirable  ex- 
ample. 

Peter  Ilich  was  too  young  to  pass  straight  into  the  School 
of  Jurisprudence.  It  was  necessary  that  for  two  years  he 
should  attend  the  preparatory  classes.  At  first,  all  his  Sun- 
days and  half-holidays  were  spent  with  his  mother,  who 


20  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

also  visited  him  on  every  opportunity;  so  that  in  the  begin- 
ning he  did  not  feel  the  transition  from  home  to  school  life 
so  severely.  But  his  mother  could  not  remain  in  Petersburg 
after  the  middle  of  October,  and  then  came  one  of  the 
most  terrible  memories  of  Peter's  life — the  day  of  her 
departure. 

When  the  actual  moment  of  parting  came,  he  completely 
lost  his  self-control  and,  clinging  wildly  to  his  mother,  re- 
fused to  let  her  go.  Neither  kisses,  nor  words  of  comfort, 
nor  the  promise  to  return  soon,  were  of  any  avail.  He  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  but  hung  upon  her  as  though  he 
was  part  and  parcel  of  the  beloved  presence.  It  became 
necessary  to  carry  off  the  poor  child  by  force,  and  hold  him 
fast  until  his  mother  had  driven  away.  Even  then  he  broke 
loose,  and  with  a  cry  of  despair,  ran  after  the  carriage,  and 
clung  to  one  of  the  wheels,  as  though  he  would  bring  the 
vehicle  to  a  standstill. 

To  his  life's  end  Tchaikovsky  could  never  recall  this 
hour  without  a  shiver  of  horror.  This  first  great  trouble 
of  his  life  was  only  partly  obliterated  by  a  still  greater 
grief — the  death  of  his  mother.  Although  in  after  life  he 
passed  through  many  sad  experiences,  and  knew  disappoint- 
ment and  renunciation,  he  could  never  forget  the  sense  of 
resentment  and  despair  which  possessed  him  as  the  carriage 
containing  his  beloved  mother  passed  out  of  sight.  The 
shadow  of  this  parting  darkened  the  first  year  of  his  school 
life.  Home-sickness  and  yearning  effaced  all  other  im- 
pressions, and  destroyed  all  his  earlier  tendencies,  desires, 
and  thoughts.  For  two  whole  years  it  is  evident  from 
his  letters  that  he  lived  only  in  the  hope  of  seeing  his 
parents  again.  He  knew  no  other  preoccupations  or  dis- 
tractions. 

Hardly  had  the  boy's  mother  left  St.  Petersburg,  when 
an  epidemic  of  scarlet  fever  broke  out  in  the  school.  The 
Vakars  hastened  to  take  Peter  into  their  own  house,  but 


ALEXANDRA    ANDKE1EVNA   TCHAIKOVSKY,    THE    COMPOSERS    MOTHER,    IN    1848 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  21 

unhappily  the  boy,  although  he  escaped  illness  himself, 
carried  the  infection  with  him.  The  eldest  son,  the  pride 
of  the  home,  developed  the  complaint  and  died  of  it.  Not 
a  word  of  reproach  was  breathed  to  Peter  Ilich,  the  un- 
happy cause  of  the  disaster;  but  the  boy  could  not  rid 
himself  of  the  sense  that  the  parents  must  regard  him 
with  secret  bitterness.  It  is  not  surprising  that  just  at  this 
time  life  seemed  to  him  cold  and  cheerless,  and  that  he 
longed  more  than  ever  for  his  own  people. 

The  Vakars  left  Petersburg  in  April,  1851,  and  a  new 
home  was  found  for  the  two  brothers  in  the  family  of 
M.  Weiss.  This  change  does  not  appear  to  have  had  much 
effect  on  Peter  Ilich.  The  tone  of  his  letters  remains  as 
homesick  as  before.  But  in  the  following  May,  Plato 
Vakar  and  his  wife  took  the  boys  into  their  own  house, 
where  they  remained  until  their  parents  returned  to  settle 
in  St.  Petersburg.  In  these  surroundings  Peter's  spirits 
brightened  perceptibly. 

In  September  his  father  came  alone  and  spent  three  weeks 
with  his  boys.  His  departure  was  not  so  tragic  an  event 
as  had  been  the  mother's  a  year  earlier.  Peter  was  now 
older,  and  had  learnt  to  do  without  his  parents.  Hence- 
forth his  letters  are  calmer ;  his  entreaties  to  his  mother  to 
come  occur  less  frequently,  and  are  sometimes  put  in  a 
playful  manner. 

In  May,  1852,  the  Tchaikovsky  family  returned  to  St. 
Petersburg.  His  modest  savings  and  the  pension  he  drew 
from  the  Government  enabled  Ilia  Tchaikovsky  to  retire 
from  work  and  live  reunited  with  his  children. 

This  period  of  the  composer's  life  offers  few  interesting 
events.  The  monotony  of  his  schooldays  was  only  broken 
by  his  Sunday  exeat  which  was  spent  at  home. 

In  1854  his  half-sister,  Zinaida,  was  married  ;  and  in  the 
course  of  the  same  year  a  tragic  event  took  place,  which 
cast  a  gloom  over  the  family  for  long  days  to  come.  Two 


22  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

years  later,  in  1856,  Peter  Ilich  refers  to  this  loss  in  a  letter 
to  Fanny : — 

"  First  I  must  give  you  some  very  sad  news.  A  terrible 
grief  befell  us  more  than  two  years  since.  Four  months 
after  Zinai'da's  marriage  my  mother  was  taken  ill  with 
cholera.  Thanks  to  the  care  of  her  doctor,  she  rallied,  but 
not  for  long.  Three  days  later  she  was  taken  from  us 
without  even  time  to  bid  us  good-bye." 

This  occurred  in  July,  1854,  and  the  troubles  of  the 
bereaved  family  did  not  end  here.  On  the  day  of  his 
wife's  funeral  Ilia  Tchaikovsky  was  also  seized  with 
cholera ;  but  although  for  several  days  he  was  in  great 
danger,  his  life  was  eventually  spared  to  his  family.  In 
his  bereaved  condition  he  now  found  it  impossible  to  keep 
house.  Consequently  the  younger  children  were  sent  to 
various  schools  and  institutions,  while  he  himself  made 
a  home  in  the  household  of  his  brother,  Peter  Petrovich 
Tchaikovsky,  who  was  then  residing  in  Petersburg. 

The  period  between  1852  and  1854  had  a  twofold 
influence  upon  Tchaikovsky's  character.  The  tears  he 
had  shed,  the  suffering  he  had  experienced  during  the  two 
years  spent  away  from  home,  had  reformed  his  nature,  and 
brought  back,  in  all  his  old  candour  and  charm,  the  boy 
we  knew  at  Votinsk.  The  irritability,  idleness,  insincerity, 
and  dissatisfaction  with  his  surroundings  had  now  given 
place  to  his  old  frankness  of  character,  which  had  formerly 
fascinated  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  former  freedom  in  which  his 
mind  and  soul  developed  was  now  greatly  restricted  by 
his  way  of  life,  which,  although  wholesome  in  some 
respects,  was  a  direct  hindrance  to  his  artistic  develop- 
ment. His  musical  progress,  which  had  made  such  strides 
between  1848  and  1849,  now  came  to  a  standstill  that 
lasted  ten  years. 

Of  the  thirty-nine  letters  written  during  his  first  two 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  23 

years  of  school-life,  only  two  have  any  reference  to  music. 
Once  he  speaks  of  having  played  a  polka  for  his  comrades, 
and  adds  that  he  had  been  practising  a  piece  learnt  three 
years  previously,  Another  time  he  writes  to  his  parents 
that  some  day  he  will  relate  them  the  story  of  Der 
FreischutZ)  and  recalls  having  heard  A  Life  for  the  Tsar 
on  his  first  visit  to  Petersburg. 

It  would,  however,  be  incorrect  to  conclude  from  this 
that  he  lived  without  musical  impressions.  He  had  strong 
predilections,  and,  as  he  himself  says,  Weber's  inspired 
creation,  together  with  A  Life  for  the  Tsar  and  certain 
airs  from  Don  Giovanni — learnt  by  means  of  the  orchestrion 
at  Votinsk — occupied  the  highest  niches  in  the  temple  of 
his  gods.  But  he  had  no  one  to  share  his  musical  en- 
thusiasms. At  that  period  there  was  not  a  single  amateur 
among  his  acquaintances.  Everyone  with  whom  he  came 
in  contact  regarded  music  merely  as  a  pastime,  without 
serious  significance  in  life.  Meeting  with  little  sympathy 
from  his  relatives  or  teachers,  and  even  less  from  his 
schoolmates,  he  kept  his  secret  aspirations  to  himself.  He 
showed  a  certain  reticence  in  all  that  concerned  his  music. 
When  asked  to  play,  he  did  so  unwillingly,  and  hurried  to 
get  the  performance  over.  But  when  he  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  believing  himself  to  be  alone,  he  seemed  quite  ab- 
sorbed in  his  improvisations. 

The  only  person  with  whom  he  could  discuss  his  musical 
taste  was  his  aunt,  Mme.  E.  A.  Alexeiev.  Her  knowledge 
of  instrumental  music  was  limited,  but  she  could  advance 
her  nephew's  acquaintance  with  vocal — especially  operatic 
— music.  Thanks  to  her,  he  learnt  to  know  the  whole  of 
Don  Giovanni,  and  was  never  tired  of  reading  the  pianoforte 
score. 

"The  music  of  Don  Juan"  he  wrote  in  1878,  "was  the 
first  to  make  a  deep  impression  upon  me.  It  awoke  a 
spiritual  ecstasy  which  was  afterwards  to  bear  fruit.  By  its 
help  I  penetrated  into  that  world  of  artistic  beauty  where 


24  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

only  great  genius  abides.  It  is  due  to  Mozart  that  I 
devoted  my  life  to  music.  He  gave  the  first  impulse  to  my 
efforts,  and  made  me  love  it  above  all  else  in  the  world." 

But  although  Tchaikovsky  shrank  from  sharing  his 
deeper  musical  emotions  with  anyone,  he  was  quite  willing 
to  take  part  with  those  who  regarded  music  as  a  mere 
recreation.  He  sang  bravura  airs  with  a  facility  of  vocalisa- 
tion any  prima  donna  might  have  envied.  Once  he  learnt, 
with  his  aunt,  the  exceedingly  florid  duet  in  Semiramide, 
and  sang  the  soprano  part  admirably.  He  was  very  proud 
of  his  wonderful  natural  shake. 

About  this  time  one  of  his  most  characteristic  peculiari- 
ties first  showed  itself:  his  docility  and  compliance  to  the 
opinions  of  others  on  all  questions  save  those  concerned 
with  music.  Here  he  would  brook  no  interference.  In 
spite  of  any  attempts  to  influence  his  judgment  in  this 
respect,  he  adhered  to  his  own  views  and  followed  only  his 
own  inward  promptings.  In  all  other  matters  he  was 
malleable  as  wax. 


V 

Tchaikovsky's  school  life  had  little  or  no  effect  upon  his 
subsequent  career.  The  period  between  1852-1859  reveals 
to  us  not  so  much  the  evolution  of  an  artist,  as  that  of  an 
amiable,  but  mediocre,  official,  of  whom  scarcely  a  trace 
was  to  be  found  some  five  years  later. 

The  biographical  material  of  this  period  is  necessarily 
very  scanty,  being  limited  to  the  somewhat  hazy  re- 
miniscences of  his  relatives  and  school  friends.  Naturally 
enough  it  did  not  occur  to  anyone  to  take  notes  of  the 
comings  and  goings  of  a  very  ordinary  young  man. 

Among  the  masters  and  pupils  at  the  School  of  Juris- 
prudence no  one  seems  to  have  exercised  any  lasting 
influence,  moral  or  intellectual,  upon  Tchaikovsky. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  25 

He  was  studious  and  capable.  Many  of  his  studies  in- 
terested him,  but  neither  he,  nor  any  of  his  schoolmates, 
could  recall  one  particular  subject  in  which  he  had  won  dis- 
tinction. On  the  other  hand,  mathematics  alone  seem  to 
have  offered  any  serious  difficulty  to  him. 

The  scholars  of  the  School  of  Jurisprudence  were  drawn 
chiefly  from  the  upper  middle  classes,  consequently 
Tchaikovsky  found  himself  from  the  first  among  his  social 
equals.  His  final  year  was  not  especially  brilliant,  but, 
besides  the  composer  himself,  it  included  the  poet  Apukhtin 
and  the  famous  lawyer  Gerard. 

According  to  the  latter's  account,  the  scholars  of  that 
year  aimed  high.  All  took  a  keen  interest  in  literature. 
Even  the  lower  forms  possessed  a  school  magazine,  to 
which  Apukhtin,  Maslov,  Aertel,  Gerard,  and  Tchaikovsky 
were  contributors.  A  "  History  of  the  Literature  of  our 
Form,"  very  smartly  written,  emanated — so  Maslov  says — 
from  Tchaikovsky's  pen. 

Among  the  composer's  schoolfellows  Vladimir  Stepano- 
vich  Adamov  takes  the  first  place.  Although  they  spent 
but  a  few  months  in  the  same  class,  the  mutual  attraction 
was  so  strong  that  they  remained  intimate  friends  until 
death  severed  the  connection.  Adamov  was  a  typical 
scholar  of  the  hard-working  kind,  yet  at  the  same  time  he 
had  aesthetic  aspirations  and  tastes.  He  was  a  passionate 
lover  of  nature  and  very  fond  of  music,  although  he  never 
became  more  than  an  indifferent  amateur  singer.  The 
friends  often  went  together  to  the  Italian  Opera.  Adamov 
left  the  school  with  a  gold  medal  and  rose  rapidly  to  a 
high  place  in  the  Ministry  of  Justice.  His  premature 
death  in  1877  was  a  severe  blow  to  Tchaikovsky,  for 
Adamov  was  one  of  the  few  intimate  friends  to  whom  he 
cared  to  confide  his  artistic  aspirations. 

Apukhtin,  who  came  to  school  in  1853,  at  thirteen,  was  a 


26  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

youthful  prodigy.  His  poetical  gifts  were  already  the  ad- 
miration not  only  of  his  comrades,  but  of  the  outer  world. 
He  possessed  the  same  personal  charm  as  Tchaikovsky, 
but  was  far  more  sophisticated  and  self-conscious.  The 
universal  admiration  to  which  he  was  accustomed,  the 
interest  of  such  writers  as  Tourgeniev  and  Fet,  tended  to 
encourage  his  vanity.  The  path  to  fame  lay  clearly  before 
him. 

Apukhtin's  tendencies  were  decidedly  sceptical.  He  was 
the  exact  opposite  of  Tchaikovsky.  Their  temperaments 
were  radically  different.  But  both  loved  poetry,  and 
shared  that  delicate  "  flair "  for  all  that  is  choice — that 
mysterious  "something"  which  draws  artists  together,  no 
matter  when  or  where  they  chance  to  meet.  The  contrast 
in  all  other  respects  only  served  to  open  new  horizons  to 
both  and  draw  the  bonds  of  friendship  closer. 

As  a  friend  and  schoolmate,  Tchaikovsky  displayed  the 
same  qualities  which  distinguished  him  as  a  child  at 
Votinsk.  Now,  as  subsequently  in  the  Ministry  of  Justice, 
at  the  Conservatoires  of  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  through- 
out Europe  and  across  the  Atlantic,  we  watch  him  drawing 
all  hearts  towards  himself,  while  the  circle  of  his  friendships 
was  constantly  widening. 

By  the  time  he  passed  out  of  the  preparatory  classes, 
his  ideal  faith  in  the  order  of  things  was  shaken.  He 
no  longer  worked  with  a  kind  of  religious  fervour  for 
work's  sake.  Henceforward  he  did  just  what  was  necessary 
to  avoid  punishment  and  to  enable  him  to  qualify  for  an 
official  post,  without  any  real  interest  in  the  work.  As  to 
music,  neither  he,  nor  any  of  his  circle,  had  any  confidence 
in  an  artistic  career.  He  scarcely  realised  in  what  direction 
he  was  drifting ;  yet  with  the  change  from  youth  to  man- 
hood came  also  the  desire  to  taste  the  pleasures  and 
excitements  of  life.  The  future  appeared  to  him  as  an 
endless  festival,  and  as  nothing  had  come,  so  far,  to  mar 
his  happiness,  he  gave  himself  up  to  this  delightful  illusion. 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1859 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  27 

With  an  impulsive  temperament,  he  took  life  easily:  a 
good-natured,  careless  young  man,  unencumbered  by  serious 
aspirations  or  intentions. 

In  1855,  in  consequence  of  the  mother's  death,  the 
family  life  of  the  Tchaikovskys  underwent  great  changes. 

Ilia  Tchaikovsky  was  a  good  father,  but  he  did  not 
understand  the  education  of  the  younger  children.  Realis- 
ing this  fact — and  partly  because  he  found  his  loneliness 
unbearable — he  now  resolved  to  share  the  home  of  his 
brother,  Peter  Petrovich  Tchaikovsky. 

Peter  Petrovich  was  a  white-haired  man  of  seventy, 
every  inch  a  soldier,  who  had  seen  many  campaigns,  and 
bore  many  honourable  scars.  He  was  exceedingly  re- 
ligious, and  up  to  the  time  of  his  marriage  had  led  a  life 
devoted  to  prayer,  fasting,  and  warfare.  He  might  have 
belonged  to  some  mediaeval  order  of  knighthood.  Stern 
towards  himself,  he  demanded  blind  obedience  from  his 
wife  and  children ;  when  he  found  that  they  did  not 
respond  to  his  influence,  he  shut  himself  apart  in  grim 
disapproval  and  wrote  endless  tracts  on  mystical  subjects. 

Madame  Peter  Tchaikovsky,  although  a  little  in  awe 
of  her  husband,  permitted  her  children  to  enjoy  all  the 
amusements  natural  to  their  age — balls,  concerts,  and  other 
worldly  dissipations.  The  young  people  of  both  families 
led  a  merry,  careless  existence  until  the  spring  of  1858, 
when  Ilia  Tchaikovsky,  thanks  to  his  over-confidence  in 
humanity,  suddenly  lost  his  entire  fortune  and  was 
obliged  in  his  declining  days  to  seek  a  new  appointment. 
Fortunately  this  was  forthcoming  and,  as  the  Director 
of  the  Technological  Institute,  he  found  himself  once  more 
in  comfortable  circumstances.  A  married  sister-in-law 
Elizabeth  Schobert,  and  her  family,  now  joined  the  Tchai- 
kovsky household,  established  in  the  official  residence  that 
went  with  the  new  appointment. 


28  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

On  May  I3th  (25th),  1859,  Peter  Ilich  left  the  School 
of  Jurisprudence  and  entered  the  Ministry  of  Justice  as 
a  first-class  clerk.  This  event,  which  would  have  meant 
so  much  to  any  other  young  man,  signified  little  to 
Tchaikovsky.  He  did  not  take  his  new  work  seriously, 
although  he  had  no  presentiment  of  his  future  destiny. 
How  little  his  official  occupations  really  interested  him 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  a  few  months  after  he  had 
changed  his  vocation  he  could  not  remember  the  nature  of 
his  work  in  the  Ministry  of  Justice.  He  only  recollected 
one  of  his  colleagues,  because  of  "  something  rather  un- 
usual that  seemed  to  flash  from  his  eyes."  Twenty-five 
years  later  Tchaikovsky  met  this  man  again  in  the  person 
of  the  celebrated  landscape  painter  Volkov. 

One  "  traditional "  anecdote,  and  the  brief  history  of 
Peter  Ilich  as  an  official  is  complete.  He  had  been 
entrusted  with  a  signed  document  from  the  chief  of  his 
department,  but  on  his  way  to  deliver  it  he  stopped  to 
talk  with  someone,  and  in  his  absence  of  mind  never 
noticed  that,  while  talking,  he  kept  tearing  off  scraps  of 
the  paper  and  chewing  them — a  trick  he  always  had  with 
theatre  tickets  or  programmes.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  re-copy  the  document  and,  however  unpleasant,  to 
face  his  chief  for  a  fresh  signature. 

Tchaikovsky  delighted  in  nature  and  the  freedom  of  the 
country.  In  winter  the  theatre  was  his  chief  amusement, 
especially  the  French  play,  the  ballet,  and  the  Italian 
opera.  He  was  particularly  fascinated  by  ballets  of  the 
fantastic  or  fairy  order,  and  gradually  came  to  value  more 
and  more  the  art  of  dancing. 

The  acting  of  Adelaide  Ristori  made  a  profound  im- 
pression upon  Tchaikovsky.  His  greatest  admiration, 
however,  was  for  the  singer  Lagroua.  She  was  not  a 
beautiful  woman,  but,  in  the  part  of  Norma,  she  displayed 
such  tragic  pathos,  such  plastic  art,  that  she  was  worthy  to 
be  compared  with  the  greatest  actresses. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  29 

In  1860  Tchaikovsky's  youngest  sister  and  constant 
companion,  Alexandra  Ilinichna,  was  married  to  Leo  Vas- 
silievich  Davidov,  and  went  to  live  in  the  Government  of 
Kiev.  During  the  following  year  several  other  members 
of  the  family  went  out  into  the  world,  so  that  the  cheerful 
family  life  came  to  an  end,  and  a  shade  of  melancholy  crept 
over  the  remainder  of  the  household. 

At  this  period  Tchaikovsky's  attitude  to  his  father  and 
his  aunts  was  slightly  egotistical  and  contemptuous.  This 
was  only  a  passing  phase.  He  was  not  actually  wanting 
in  affection  for  his  own  people,  but  was  simply  bored  in 
their  society.  At  this  age  he  could  not  endure  a  quiet  life 
at  home. 

Under  such  auspices  dawned  the  year  1861,  destined  to 
inaugurate  a  new  epoch  in  the  life  of  Tchaikovsky. 


PART  II 

I 

A  this  time  there  were  two  music  masters  at  the 
School  of  Jurisprudence.     Karel,  who  taught 
the  piano,  until  he  was  succeeded  by  Bekker, 
and  Lomakin,  the  professor  of  singing. 
It  is  not  known  whether  Tchaikovsky  ever  took  lessons 
with  Karel.     With  Bekker  he  did  learn  for  a  time,  but  the 
lessons  made  no  impression  upon  his  memory. 

The  singing  lessons  he  received  from  Lomakin  amounted 
to  little  more  than  choral  practices.  Lomakin  was  a  very 
competent  man,  who  brought  the  school  choir  to  a  pitch 
of  perfection ;  but  he  had  not  time  to  train  individual 
voices,  consequently  he  exercised  no  direct  influence  on 
Tchaikovsky,  although  he  observed  his  beautiful  soprano 
voice  and  his  great  talent  for  music. 

Besides  these  masters,  Tchaikovsky  took  piano  lessons 
at  home  from  Rudolf  Kundinger. 

Kiindinger  had  come  to  Russia  at  eighteen,  and  de- 
lighted the  public  of  St.  Petersburg  by  his  brilliant 
virtuosity.  Having  attracted  many  pupils,  he  settled  in 
Petersburg.  In  1855  the  elder  Tchaikovsky  engaged  him 
to  teach  his  son.  Kundinger  afterwards  regretted  that  he 
kept  no  record  of  these  lessons.  The  boy  struck  him  as 
talented,  but  nothing  made  him  suspect  the  germ  of  a 
great  composer.  One  thing  which  impressed  Kundinger 
was  his  remarkable  power  of  improvisation.  Another  was 
his  fine  feeling  for  harmony.  Kundinger  would  often  show 

30 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  31 

his  pupil  his  own  compositions,  and  accept  his  sugges- 
tions as  regards  harmony,  rinding  them  invariably  to  the 
point,  although  at  that  time  Tchaikovsky  knew  nothing  of 
the  theory  of  music. 

His  father  consulted  Kiindinger  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
allowing  his  son  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  music.  The 
teacher's  advice  was  directly  to  the  contrary.  "  I  had  to 
take  into  consideration  the  wretched  status  of  a  pro- 
fessional musician  in  Russia  at  that  time,"  said  Kiindinger 
afterwards ;  "  besides  I  had  no  real  faith  in  Peter  Ilich's 
gift  for  music." 

If  such  specialists  as  Lomakin  and  Kiindinger  saw 
nothing  phenomenal  in  Tchaikovsky,  it  is  hardly  surpris- 
ing that  others  should  have  failed  to  do  so.  His  school 
friends  valued  his  musical  talents,  but  were  far  from 
suspecting  him  to  be  a  future  celebrity.  His  relations, 
especially  his  sisters  and  cousins,  thought  his  improvisation 
of  dance  music  a  pleasant  accomplishment,  but  otherwise 
regarded  his  music  as  "  useless  trifling."  His  father,  alone, 
took  the  matter  at  all  seriously.  He  engaged  a  good 
teacher,  and  encouraged  his  son  to  study  steadily.  In  a 
word,  he  did  all  that  a  man  could  do,  who  knew  absolutely 
nothing  of  music  and  musicians. 

Tchaikovsky  had  only  one  morning  and  two  evenings  in 
the  week  in  which  he  was  free  to  devote  himself  to  music. 
Consequently  he  had  no  opportunity  of  grounding  himself 
in  the  art.  When  and  how  could  he  become  acquainted 
with  the  symphonic  -  masterpieces  of  the  great  German 
composers?  Symphony  concerts  were  then  rare  in  St. 
Petersburg.  The  future  composer  had  no  alternative  but 
to  study  these  works  in  pianoforte  arrangements.  But  such 
music  was  expensive  and  beyond  his  slender  means.  This 
explains  why  his  musical  knowledge  was  so  limited  at 
that  time.  We  cannot  say  how  many  of  the  works  of 
Beethoven,  Mozart,  and  Schubert  he  knew  prior  to  1861  ; 
it  is  certain  that  his  knowledge  was  not  half  so  extensive 


32  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

as  that  of  any  good  amateur  of  the  present  day.  For 
instance,  he  knew  nothing  of  Schumann,  nor  the  number 
and  keys  of  Beethoven's  symphonies.  He  frequented  the 
Italian  Opera,  which  was  his  sole  opportunity  of  hearing  a 
good  orchestra,  chorus,  and  first-rate  soloists.  Russian 
opera  was  then  at  a  low  ebb,  and  he  only  went  to  hear  his 
favourite  work,  A  Life  for  the  Tsar.  All  the  other  operas 
he  heard  were  sung  by  Italians.  To  these  artists  he  owed 
not  only  his  passion  for  Don  Juan  and  Freischutz,  but  also 
his  acquaintance  with  Meyerbeer,  Rossini,  Donizetti,  and 
Verdi,  for  whom  he  had  a  genuine  enthusiasm. 

During  the  fifties  the  celebrated  singing  master  Piccioli 
was  living  in  Petersburg.  He  was  a  Neapolitan  by  birth, 
who  had  come  to  the  Russian  capital  some  ten  years 
earlier  and  settled  there.  His  wife  was  a  friend  of  Alex- 
andra Schobert,  and  in  this  way  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  Tchaikovskys.  Although  nearly  fifty,  he  was 
very  intimate  with  Peter,  who  was  but  seventeen.  But 
as  to  Piccioli's  real  age,  no  one  knew  the  truth,  for  he  kept 
it  dark.  He  certainly  dyed  his  hair  and  painted  his  face, 
and  cruel  tongues  did  not  hesitate  to  assert  that  he  would 
never  see  seventy  again,  and  that  he  kept  at  the  back  of 
his  head  a  small  apparatus  for  smoothing  out  his  wrinkles. 
I  remember  how,  as  children,  my  brother  Anatol  and  I 
took  great  pains  to  discover  this  apparatus,  and  how  we 
finally  decided  it  must  be  concealed  somewhere  under  his 
collar.  As  regards  music,  Piccioli  gave  utterance  to  such 
violently  fanatical  views  and  convictions,  and  knew  so  well 
how  to  defend  them  with  persuasive  eloquence,  that  he 
could  have  won  over  even  a  less  pliant  nature  than  that  of 
Tchaikovsky.  He  acknowledged  only  Rossini,  Bellini, 
Donizetti,  and  Verdi.  He  scorned  and  hated  with  equal 
thoroughness  the  symphonies  of  Beethoven,  the  works 
of  Bach,  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,  and  all  the  rest.  Outside 
the  creations  of  the  great  Italian  melodists  he  admitted  no 
music  whatever.  In  spite  of  his  eloquence,  the  Italian 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  33 

could  not  win  over  Tchaikovsky  heart  and  soul  to  his  way 
of  thinking,  because  the  latter  was  not  given  to  partiality, 
and  also  because  his  own  musical  tastes  were  already 
firmly  implanted,  and  could  not  be  so  easily  modified. 
He  carried  within  him  an  Olympia  of  his  own,  to  the 
deities  of  which  he  did  homage  with  all  his  soul.  Never- 
theless, the  friendship  between  himself  and  Piccioli  re- 
mained unbroken,  and  to  this  he  owed,  in  a  great  measure, 
his  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  music  of  the  Italian 
operatic  school. 

Since  1850  Tchaikovsky's  talent  as  a  composer  had  only 
found  expression  in  improvisations  for  the  piano.  Although 
he  had  composed  a  good  many  valses,  polkas,  and  "Reveries 
de  Salon,"  which  were  probably  no  worse  than  similar 
pieces  invented  by  his  "  composer "  friends,  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  put  his  thoughts  on  paper — perhaps  from 
excessive  modesty,  perhaps  from  pride.  Once  only  did  he 
write  out  a  song,  composed  to  words  by  the  poet  Fet :  "  My 
genius,  my  angel,  my  friend,"  a  mere  empty  amateur 
effusion.  Yet,  as  time  passed,  his  musical  consciousness, 
his  realisation  of  his  true  vocation,  undoubtedly  increased. 
Later  in  life  he  said,  that  even  at  school,  the  thought 
of  becoming  a  composer  haunted  him  incessantly,  but, 
feeling  that  no  one  in  his  circle  had  any  faith  in  his  talents, 
he  seldom  mentioned  the  subject.  Occasionally  he  made 
a  prophetic  utterance.  Once,  about  the  close  of  1862, 
soon  after  he  had  joined  the  classes  at  the  Conservatoire, 
he  was  talking  to  his  brother  Nicholas.  Nicholas,  who 
was  one  of  those  who  did  not  approve  of  his  brother's  wish 
to  study  music,  held  forth  on  the  subject,  assuring  him  he 
had  not  the  genius  of  a  Glinka,  and  that  the  wretched  lot 
of  a  mediocre  musician  was  not  an  enviable  one.  At  first 
Peter  Ilich  made  no  reply,  but  as  they  were  parting  he  said : 
"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  turn  out  a  Glinka,  but  one  thing 
I  can  assure  you — you  will  be  proud  some  day  to  own  me 
as  a  brother."  The  look  in  his  eyes,  and  the  tone  in  which 


34  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

he  spoke  these  words,  were  never  forgotten  by  Nicholas 
Tchaikovsky. 

The  slowness  and  unproductiveness  of  Tchaikovsky's 
musical  development  in  the  fifties  was  closely  connected 
with  his  frivolous  mode  of  life.  His  nature — in  reality 
lovable  and  accessible  to  all — and  his  fertile  genius  seemed 
both  hushed  in  a  profound  slumber;  but  at  the  moment 
of  his  awakening,  his  musical  gifts  as  well  as  all  his  other 
good  qualities  simultaneously  reappeared.  With  the  super- 
ficial amateur  vanished  also  the  mere  society  man ;  with 
the  strenuous,  zealous  inquirer  returned  also  the  tender, 
grateful  son,  the  kind  and  thoughtful  brother. 

The  change  took  place  quite  unobserved.  It  is  difficult 
to  give  the  exact  moment  of  its  commencement,  for  it  was 
not  preceded  by  any  important  events.  Undoubtedly,  it 
may  be  observed  as  early  as  1861,  when  Peter  Ilich  began 
once  more  to  think  of  an  artistic  career  and  entered  into 
closer  relationship  with  his  family,  striving  to  find  at  home 
that  satisfaction  for  his  higher  spiritual  needs,  which  he 
had  failed  to  discover  in  his  previous  way  of  living.  He 
had  grown  weary  of  an  easy-going  life,  and  the  desire  to 
start  afresh  made  itself  increasingly  felt.  He  began  to 
be  afraid  lest  he  might  be  overwhelmed  in  this  slough 
of  a  petty,  useless,  and  vicious  existence.  In  the  midst 
of  this  feverish  pursuit  of  pleasure  there  came  over  him — 
so  he  said — moments  of  agonising  despair.  Whether 
satiety  came  to  him  from  some  unknown  event  in  his  life, 
or  whether  it  gradually  crept  into  his  soul,  no  one  can  tell, 
for  he  passed  through  these  heavy  hours  alone.  Those 
around  him  only  observed  the  change  when  it  had  already 
taken  place,  and  the  dawn  of  a  new  life  had  gladdened  his 
spiritual  vision. 

In  a  letter  to  his  newly- married  sister  Alexandra, 
written  in  March,  1861,  he  speaks  of  an  incident  which 
may  be  regarded  as  the  first  step  towards  his  musical 
career.  His  father,  on  his  own  initiative,  had  actually 


THE  COMPOSER'S  FATHER  WITH  HIS  TWIN  SONS  MODESTE  AND  ANATOL,   1855 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  35 

proposed    that    he    should    devote    himself    entirely    to 
music. 

"At  supper  they  were  talking  of  my  musical  talent," 
writes  Peter  Ilich,  "  and  father  declared  it  was  not  yet  too 
late  for  me  to  become  an  artist.  If  it  were  only  true ! 
But  the  matter  stands  thus :  that  my  talent,  supposing 
I  really  have  any,  would  hardly  develop  now.  They  have 
made  me  an  official,  although  a  poor  one ;  I  try  as  hard 
as  I  can  to  improve  and  to  fulfil  my  duties  more  con- 
scientiously, and  at  the  same  time  I  am  to  be  studying 
thorough-bass ! " 

Another  incident,  as  ordinary  as  the  one  just  related, 
marks  the  change  in  Tchaikovsky's  relations  with  his 
family,  and  throws  a  clearer  light  upon  this  revolution 
in  his  spiritual  life. 

After  the  marriage  of  our  sister  Alexandra,  the  twins, 
Anatol  and  myself,  then  about  ten  years  old,  were  often 
very  lonely.  From  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — when 
we  returned  from  school — until  bedtime,  we  were  left  to 
our  own  resources.  One  long  and  wearisome  evening,  as 
we  sat  on  the  drawing-room  window-sill  kicking  our  heels, 
Peter  came  in  and  found  us.  From  our  earliest  infancy  he 
inspired  us,  not  so  much  with  love  as  with  respect  and 
adoration.  A  word  from  him  was  like  a  sacred  treasure. 
He,  on  the  contrary,  took  no  notice  of  us ;  we  had  no 
existence  for  him. 

The  mere  fact  that  he  was  in  the  house,  and  that  we 
could  see  him,  sufficed  to  distract  our  dullness  and  cheer 
us  up ;  but  great  indeed  was  our  astonishment  when,  in- 
stead of  passing  us  by  unobserved  as  usual,  he  stopped  to 
say  :  "  Are  you  dull,  boys  ?  Would  you  like  to  spend  the 
evening  with  me?"  To  this  day  I  cannot  forget  that 
memorable  evening  ;  memorable  indeed  for  us,  since  it 
was  the  beginning  of  a  new  existence. 

The  wisest  and  most  experienced  of  teachers,  the  dearest 
and  tenderest  of  mothers,  could  not  have  replaced  Peter 


36  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Ilich  in  our  life  from  that  hour;  for  he  was  all  this,  and  our 
friend  and  comrade  besides.  All  we  thought  and  felt  we 
could  tell  him  without  any  fear  lest  it  would  fail  to  interest 
him.  His  influence  upon  us  was  unbounded.  We,  on  our 
side,  became  the  first  care  and  aim  of  his  life.  We  three 
formed,  as  it  were,  a  family  within  the  family.  A  year 
later  Peter  wrote  to  his  sister : — 

"  My  attachment  to  these  little  folk  grows  from  day  to 
day.  I  am  very  proud  of  this  feeling,  perhaps  the  best 
which  my  heart  has  known.  When  I  am  unhappy  I  have 
only  to  think  of  them,  and  my  life  seems  better  worth 
living.  I  try  as  far  as  possible  to  give  them  a  mother's 
love  and  care.  .  .  ." 


ii 

In  spite  of  the  important  conversation  at  the  supper- 
table,  in  spite  of  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  Peter  Ilich 
and  the  change  in  his  relations  towards  his  family,  his  life 
remained  externally  the  same.  He  kept  his  official  berth, 
and  continued  to  go  into  society,  frequenting  dances  and 
theatres.  Of  all  the  pleasures  he  pursued,  of  all  the  desires 
he  cherished,  only  one  remained  unfulfilled — a  tour  abroad. 

But  now  even  this  wish  was  to  be  satisfied. 

An  old  friend  of  his  father's  had  to  go  abroad  on  busi- 
ness. As  he  was  no  linguist,  it  was  necessary  to  take  a 
companion  who  would  act  as  interpreter,  and  he  proposed 
that  Peter  Ilich  should  accompany  him  in  this  capacity. 
Accordingly  in  June,  1861,  the  former  writes  to  his  sister: — 

"As  you  probably  have  heard  already,  I  am  to  go  abroad. 
You  can  imagine  my  delight.  .  .  This  journey  seems  to  me 
at  times  an  alluring,  unrealisable  dream.  I  shall  not  believe 
in  it  until  I  am  actually  on  the  steamer.  I — in  Paris !  In 
Switzerland  !  It  seems  ridiculous  to  think  of  it ! " 

In  July  Tchaikovsky  started  with  his  friend,  but  not  by 
steamer. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  37 

Their  first  halting-place  was  Berlin.  In  those  days  every 
Russian  considered  it  his  duty  to  run  down  this  city.  To 
this  duty — or  rather  custom — Peter  Ilich  contributed  his 
due.  After  he  had  visited  Kroll's,  and  a  dancing  saloon, 
and  seen  Offenbach's  Orphee  aux  Enfers,  he  writes  with 
youthful  naivete ':  "  Now  we  know  our  Berlin  thoroughly, 
and  have  had  enough  of  it ! " 

After  Berlin  came  Hamburg,  which  Tchaikovsky  found 
"a  considerable  improvement."  Brussels  and  Antwerp 
did  not  please  him  at  all.  At  Ostend  they  stayed  three 
days.  "It  is  beautiful  here,"  he  wrote.  "  I  love  the  sea, 
especially  when  it  foams  and  roars,  and  these  last  days  it 
has  been  furious." 

Next  they  went  on  to  London.  "  Our  visit  would  be 
very  pleasant  were  it  not  for  the  anxiety  about  your 
health,"  he  wrote  to  his  father.  "  Your  letters  are  awaiting 
me  in  Paris,  and  my  heart  yearns  for  them,  but  we  must 
remain  here  a  few  days  longer.  London  is  very  interest- 
ing, but  makes  a  gloomy  impression.  The  sun  is  seldom 
visible,  and  it  rains  all  the  time."  Here  Tchaikovsky 
heard  Patti  for  the  first  time,  and  although  later  in  life  she 
fascinated  him,  now  he  could  see  "  nothing  particular "  in 
her. 

As  might  be  expected,  Paris  pleased  him  best  of  all  the 
towns  he  visited.  Life  in  the  French  capital  he  found 
delightful.  The  six  weeks  which  he  spent  in  Paris  were 
the  culmination  of  his  pleasure  trip.  But  in  the  midst  of 
his  enjoyment  he  experienced  a  complete  disenchantment 
with  his  travelling  companion.  After  a  series  of  painful 
misunderstandings  they  separated,  and  Peter  Ilich  re- 
turned to  Russia  alone  about  the  end  of  September. 

Intellectually  and  artistically,  Tchaikovsky  profited 
little  by  this  journey.  Indeed,  it  is  astonishing  how  little 
sensitive  he  seems  to  have  been  at  that  time  to  all  such 
impressions.  In  the  three  months  he  was  abroad  he  only 
acquired  one  positive  piece  of  information — where  one 


38  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

could  derive  the  greatest  pleasure.  And  yet  his  journey 
was  not  altogether  wasted.  In  the  first  place,  it  brought 
home  to  him  the  strength  of  his  attachment  to  his  own 
people.  He  missed  the  twins  most  of  all.  "Take  care, 
father,  that  Toly  and  Modi1  are  not  idle."  "Are  Toly  and 
Modi  working  well  ?  "  "  Don't  forget  to  tell  the  examiner 
that  Toly  and  Modi  are  prepared  for  the  upper  division," 
so  runs  the  gist  of  his  letters. 

Secondly,  on  this  journey  he  learnt  to  realise  the  in- 
evitable end  of  an  idle  and  pleasure-seeking  life,  and  to 
recognise  that  it  led  to  nothing,  and  that  existence  held 
other  and  nobler  aims  than  the  pursuit  of  enjoyment. 
The  various  distractions  of  Parisian  life  brought  about 
a  wholesome  reaction,  and  on  the  threshold  of  a  new 
career  he  could  look  quietly  on  the  termination  of  his 
former  life,  conscious  only  of  an  ardent  desire  to  step  from 
the  shadow  into  God's  daylight. 

Soon  after  his  return  he  wrote  the  following  letter  to  his 
sister : — 

"  October  zyd  (November  4^),  1861. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  about  my  journey  ?  It  is  better 
to  say  nothing.  If  ever  I  started  upon  a  colossal  piece  of 
folly,  it  was  this  same  trip  abroad.  You  remember  my 
companion?  Well,  under  the  mask  of  bonhomie,  which 
made  me  believe  him  to  be  a  worthy  man,  was  concealed 
the  most  commonplace  nature.  You  can  imagine  if  it  was 
pleasant  to  spend  three  months  with  such  a  fellow- 
traveller.  Added  to  which  I  ran  through  more  money 
than  I  could  afford  and  got  nothing  for  it.  Do  you  see 
what  a  fool  I  have  been  ?  But  do  not  scold  me.  I  have 
behaved  like  a  child — nothing  more.  .  .  .  You  know  I  have 
a  weakness  :  as  soon  as  I  have  any  money  I  squander  it  in 
pleasure.  It  is  vulgar,  wanting  in  good  sense — I  know  it 
— but  it  seems  in  my  nature.  Where  will  it  all  lead? 
What  can  I  hope  from  the  future  ?  It  is  terrible  to  think 
of.  I  know  there  will  come  a  time  when  I  shall  no  longer 

1  Diminutives  of  Anatol  and  Modeste. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  39 

be  able  to  fight  against  the  difficulties  of  life.  Until  then 
I  will  do  all  I  can  to  enjoy  it.  For  the  last  fortnight  all 
has  gone  badly  with  me  ;  my  official  work  has  been  very 
bad.  Money  vanishes  like  smoke.  In  love  —  no  luck.  But 
a  better  time  will  come  soon. 

"P.S.  —  I  have  begun  to  study  thorough-bass,  and  am 
making  good  progress.  Who  knows,  perhaps  in  three 
years'  time  you  will  be  hearing  my  opera  and  singing  my 


in 

The  most  remarkable  feature  in  the  process  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's transformation  from  a  smart  Government  official 
and  society  dandy  into  a  musical  student  lies  in  the  fact 
that,  with  all  its  apparent  suddenness  and  irrevocableness, 
there  was  nothing  hasty  or  emotional  about  the  proceed- 
ing. Not  once,  by  word  or  deed,  can  we  discern  that  he 
cherished  any  idea  of  future  renown.  He  scaled  no  rugged 
heights,  he  put  forth  no  great  powers  ;  but  every  move  in 
his  new  career  was  carefully  considered,  steadily  resolved 
upon,  and,  in  spite  of  a  certain  degree  of  caution,  firmly 
established.  His  peace  of  mind  and  confidence  were  so 
great  that  they  seemed  part  of  his  environment,  and  all 
hindrances  and  difficulties  vanished  of  their  own  accord 
and  left  the  way  open  to  him. 

The  psychological  aspect  of  this  transformation,  the 
pathetic  side  of  the  conflict  which  he  sustained  for  over  two 
years,  must  always  remain  unrevealed  ;  not  because  his 
correspondence  at  this  time  was  scanty,  but  because  Peter 
Ilich  maintained  a  jealous  guard  over  the  secrets  of  his 
inner  and  spiritual  life  in  which  no  stranger  was  permitted 
to  intermeddle.  He  chose  to  go  through  the  dark  hours 
alone,  and  remained  outwardly  the  same  serene  and  cheer- 
ful young  man  as  before.  But  if  this  reincarnation  was 
quite  ordinary  in  its  process,  it  was  the  more  radical  and 
decisive. 


40  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky's  situation  is  very  clearly  shown  in  four 
letters  written  to  his  sister  about  this  period,  each  letter 
corresponding  with  one  of  the  four  phases  of  his  evolution. 
These  letters  throw  a  clear  light  upon  the  chief  psychologi- 
cal moments  of  these  two  eventful  years  of  his  life. 

The  first,  dated  October  2$rd  (November  4th),  1861,  has 
been  already  quoted.  Tchaikovsky  just  mentions  in  the 
postscript  that  he  has  begun  his  musical  studies  as  a  matter 
of  no  importance  whatever — and  that  in  itself  is  very 
enlightening.  At  that  moment  his  harmony  lessons  with 
Zaremba  were  only  a  detail  in  the  life  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  as  were  the  Italian  conversation  lessons  he  was 
taking  at  the  same  time.  His  chief  interest  was  still  his 
official  career,  and  most  of  his  leisure  was  still  given  up  to 
social  enjoyment.  The  second  letter  shows  matters  from 
a  somewhat  different  point  of  view.  Although  only 
written  a  few  weeks  later,  it  puts  his  musical  studies  in  a 
new  light.  On  December  4th  (i6th),  1861,  Tchaikovsky 
writes: — 

"  I  am  getting  on  well.  I  hope  soon  to  get  a  rise,  and  be 
appointed  'clerk  for  special  duty.'  I  shall  get  an  additional 
twenty  roubles  to  my  salary  and  less  work.  God  grant  it 
may  come  to  pass!  ...  I  think  I  have  already  told  you 
that  I  have  begun  to  study  the  theory  of  music  with 
success.  You  will  agree  that,  with  my  rather  exceptional 
talents  (I  hope  you  will  not  mistake  this  for  bragging),  it 
seems  foolish  not  to  try  my  chances  in  this  direction.  I 
only  dread  my  own  easy-going  nature.  In  the  end  my 
indolence  will  conquer :  but  if  not,  I  promise  you  that  I 
shall  do  something.  Luckily  it  is  not  yet  too  late." 

Between  the  second  and  third  letters  eight  months 
elapsed.  During  this  period  Peter  llich  had  to  refute  his 
self-condemnation  as  regards  indolence,  and  to  prove  that 
it  actually  "  was  not  yet  too  late  "  to  accomplish  something. 

I  recollect  having  made  two  discoveries  at  this  time 
which  filled  me  with  astonishment.  The  first  was  that 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  41 

the  two  ideas  "  brother  Peter "  and  "  work "  were  not 
necessarily  opposed ;  the  second,  that  besides  pleasant 
and  interesting  music,  there  existed  another  kind,  exceed- 
ingly unpleasant  and  wearisome,  which  appeared  never- 
theless to  be  the  more  important  of  the  two.  I  still 
remember  with  what  persistency  Peter  Ilich  would  sit  at 
the  piano  for  hours  together  playing  the  most  "abomin- 
able "  and  "  incomprehensible "  preludes  and  fugues.  .  .  . 
My  astonishment  knew  no  bounds  when  he  informed  me 
he  was  writing  exercises.  It  passed  my  understanding 
that  so  charming  a  pastime  as  music  should  have  any- 
thing in  common  with  the  mathematical  problems  we 
loathed.  Outwardly  Peter  Ilich's  life  underwent  one 
remarkable  change.  Of  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances 
he  now  only  kept  up  with  Apukhtin  and  Adamov. 

Besides  his  work  for  Zaremba's  classes,  Tchaikovsky 
devoted  many  hours  to  the  study  of  the  classical  com- 
posers. Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  his  official  work  still  re- 
mained the  chief  aim  of  his  existence.  During  the  summer 
of  1862  he  was  more  attentive  to  his  official  duties  than 
before,  because  in  the  autumn  a  desirable  vacancy  was 
expected  to  occur,  to  which  he  had  every  claim,  so  that 
it  was  important  to  prove  to  his  chief,  by  extra  zeal  and 
diligence,  that  he  was  worthy  of  the  post.  His  labour 
was  wasted ;  the  place  was  not  bestowed  upon  him.  His 
indignation  at  being  "  passed  over "  knew  no  bounds,  and 
there  is  little  doubt  that  this  incident  had  a  great  deal  to 
do  with  his  resolution  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  music. 
The  last  ties  which  bound  him  to  the  bureaucratic  world 
snapped  under  the  strain  of  this  act  of  "  injustice." 

Meanwhile  several  changes  had  taken  place  in  the  family 
life  of  the  Tchaikovskys.  Their  aunt  Madame  Schobert 
had  left  them.  Nicholas  had  received  an  appointment  in 
the  provinces.  Hyppolite  was  in  the  navy  and  had  been 
sent  on  a  long  voyage.  The  family  was  now  reduced  to 
four  members — the  father,  Peter  Ilich,  and  the  twins.  The 


42  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

latter,  deprived  of  their  aunt's  care,  found  in  their  brother 
more  than  ever  both  a  tutor  and  a  guardian. 

Tchaikovsky's  third  letter  to  his  sister,  dated  September 
loth  (22nd),  1862,  brings  us  to  a  still  more  advanced 
phase  of  his  transformation.  His  official  work  has  now 
taken  quite  a  subordinate  position,  while  music  is  regarded 
as  his  speciality  and  life-work,  not  only  by  himself,  but  by 
all  his  relatives. 

"  I  have  entered  the  newly-opened  Conservatoire,"  he 
says,  "and  the  course  begins  in  a  few  days.  As  you 
know,  I  have  worked  hard  at  the  theory  of  music  during 
the  past  year,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
sooner  or  later  I  shall  give  up  my  present  occupation  for 
music.  Do  not  imagine  I  dream  of  being  a  great  artist. 
...  I  only  feel  I  must  do  the  work  for  which  I  have  a 
vocation.  Whether  I  become  a  celebrated  composer,  or 
only  a  struggling  teacher — 'tis  all  the  same.  In  any  case 
my  conscience  will  be  clear,  and  I  shall  no  longer  have 
any  right  to  grumble  at  my  lot.  Of  course,  I  shall  not 
resign  my  present  position  until  I  am  sure  that  I  am  no 
longer  a  clerk,  but  a  musician." 

He  had  relinquished  social  gaiety.  "  I  always  have  my 
midday  meal  at  home,"  he  wrote  at  this  time,  "  and  in  the 
evening  I  often  go  to  the  theatre  with  father,  or  play  cards 
with  him."  Soon  he  had  not  even  leisure  for  such  dis- 
tractions. His  musical  studies  were  not  restricted  to  two 
classes  in  the  week,  but  began  to  absorb  almost  all  his 
time.  Besides  which  he  began  to  make  new  friends  at 
the  Conservatoire — mostly  professional  musicians — with 
whom  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  leisure. 

Among  these,  Laroche  plays  so  important  a  part  in 
Tchaikovsky's  artistic  and  intimate  life  that  it  is  necessary 
to  say  something  of  his  personality  before  proceeding 
further. 

Hermann  Laroche,  the  well-known  musical  writer  and 
critic,  was  born  in  St.  Petersburg,  May  I3th  (25th),  1845. 
His  father,  a  Hanoverian  by  birth,  was  established  in  that 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1859 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  43 

city  as  a  French  teacher.  His  mother  was  a  highly  edu- 
cated woman,  and  was  careful  to  make  her  son  an  accom- 
plished linguist.  His  musical  talent  was  displayed  at  an 
early  age.  At  ten  he  had  already  composed  a  march  and 
an  overture.  He  began  his  systematic  musical  education 
in  1860,  at  Moscow,  under  the  guidance  of  Dubuque.  At 
first  he  wished  to  be  a  virtuoso,  but  his  teachers  persuaded 
him  to  relinquish  the  idea,  because  his  hands  were  not 
suited  to  the  piano,  and  they  laid  more  stress  on  his  talent 
for  composing. 

When  he  entered  the  Conservatoire  in  the  autumn  of 
1862,  Laroche  surpassed  all  his  fellow-students  in  musical 
knowledge,  and  was  also  a  highly  educated  and  well-read 
young  man. 

Tchaikovsky  and  Laroche  met  for  the  first  time  in 
October,  1862,  at  the  class  of  the  professor  of  pianoforte, 
Gerke.  Hermann  Laroche  was  then  seventeen  years  of 
age.  The  important  results  of  this  friendship  in  Tchai- 
kovsky's after-life  will  be  seen  as  this  book  proceeds ;  at 
the  outset  its  importance  was  threefold.  In  the  first  place, 
he  found  in  this  fellow-student,  who  was  far  better  versed 
in  musical  literature  than  himself,  an  unofficial  guide  and 
mentor;  secondly,  Laroche  was  the  first  critic  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's school  compositions — the  first  and  also  the  most 
influential,  for,  from  the  beginning,  Peter  Ilich  placed  the 
greatest  confidence  in  his  judgment ;  and  thirdly,  Laroche 
supplanted  all  former  intimacies  in  Tchaikovsky's  life,  and 
became  his  dearest  companion  and  friend.  The  variety  of 
his  interests,  the  keenness  of  his  critical  judgments,  his  un- 
failing liveliness  and  wit,  made  the  hours  of  leisure  which 
Tchaikovsky  now  spent  with  him  both  pleasant  and  profit- 
able ;  while  Laroche's  inexperience  of  the  practical  side 
of  life,  and  his  helplessness  in  his  relations  with  others, 
amused  Tchaikovsky  and  gave  him  an  opportunity  of 
helping  and  advising  his  friend  in  return. 

Early  in    1863  Tchaikovsky  resigned  his  place  in  the 


44  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Ministry  of  Justice,  and  resolved  to  give  himself  up 
entirely  to  music.  His  material  prospects  were  not  bright. 
His  father  could  give  him  board  and  lodging ;  the  rest  he 
must  earn  for  himself.  But  his  will  was  firm,  for  by  this 
time  his  self-confidence  and  love  of  his  art  had  taken  firm 
root. 

The  fourth  and  last  letter  to  his  sister,  which  sets  forth 
the  reasons  which  induced  him  to  give  up  his  official 
appointment,  reveals  altogether  a  new  man. 

"April  i$th  (27/Vfc),  1863. 

"  DEAR  SASHA,— From  your  letter  which  reached  father 
to-day,  I  perceive  that  you  take  a  lively  interest  in  my 
situation  and  regard  with  some  mistrust  the  step  I  have 
decided  to  take.  I  will  now  explain  to  you  more  fully 
what  my  hopes  and  intentions  really  are.  My  musical 
talent — you  cannot  deny  it — is  my  only  one.  This  being 
so,  it  stands  to  reason  that  I  ought  not  to  leave  this  God- 
sent  gift  uncultivated  and  undeveloped.  For  this  reason  I 
began  to  study  music  seriously.  So  far  my  official  duties 
did  not  clash  with  this  work,  and  I  could  remain  in  the 
Ministry  of  Justice.  Now,  however,  my  studies  grow  more 
severe  and  take  up  more  time,  so  I  find  myself  compelled 
to  give  up  one  or  the  other.  ...  In  a  word,  after  long 
consideration,  I  have  resolved  to  sacrifice  the  salary  and 
resign  my  post.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  I  intend 
to  get  into  debt,  or  ask  for  money  from  father,  whose 
circumstances  are  not  very  flourishing  just  now.  Certainly 
I  am  not  gaining  any  material  advantage.  But  first  I 
hope  to  obtain  a  small  post  in  the  Conservatoire  next 
season  (as  assistant  professor)  ;  secondly,  I  have  a  few 
private  lessons  in  view ;  and  thirdly — what  is  most  im- 
portant of  all — I  have  entirely  renounced  all  amusements 
and  luxuries,  so  that  my  expenditure  has  very  much 
decreased.  Now  you  will  want  to  know  what  will  become 
of  me  when  I  have  finished  my  course.  One  thing  I  know 
for  certain.  I  shall  be  a  good  musician  and  shall  be  able 
to  earn  my  daily  bread.  The  professors  are  satisfied  with 
me,  and  say  that  with  the  necessary  zeal  I  shall  do  well. 
I  do  not  tell  you  all  this  in  a  boastful  spirit  (it  is  not  my 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  45 

nature),  only  in  order  to  speak  openly  to  you  without  any 
false  modesty.  I  cherish  a  dream ;  to  come  to  you  for 
a  whole  year  after  my  studies  are  finished  to  compose  a 
great  work  in  your  quiet  surroundings.  After  that — out 
into  the  world." 

In  the  autumn  of  1863,  after  a  visit  to  Apukhtin,  Tchai- 
kovsky returned  to  Petersburg,  externally  and  inwardly 
a  changed  man.  His  hair  had  grown  long,  and  he  wore  a 
somewhat  shabby,  but  once  fashionable  coat,  a  relic  of  his 
"  foppish  days " ;  so  that  in  the  new  Tchaikovsky  the 
former  Peter  Ilich  was  hardly  recognisable.  His  circum- 
stances at  this  time  were  not  brilliant.  His  father  had 
taken  a  very  modest  lodging  in  Petersburg,  and  could 
give  his  son  nothing  but  bare  board  and  lodging.  To 
supply  his  further  needs,  Peter  Ilich  took  some  private 
teaching  which  Anton  Rubinstein  found  for  him.  These 
lessons  brought  in  about  fifty  roubles  a  month  (£5). 

The  sacrifice  of  all  the  pleasures  of  life  did  not  in  the 
least  embitter  or  disturb  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  made 
light  of  his  poverty,  and  at  no  time  of  his  life  was  he  so 
cheerful  and  serene  as  now.  In  a  small  room,  which  only 
held  a  bed  and  a  writing-table,  he  started  bravely  on  his 
new,  laborious  existence,  and  there  he  spent  many  a  night 
in  arduous  work. 

IV 

Laroche  gives  the  following  account  of  the  years  Tchai- 
kovsky spent  at  the  Conservatoire  of  St.  Petersburg  : — 

"  At  the  Conservatoire,  founded  by  Anton  Rubinstein  in 
1 86 1,  under  the  patronage  of  the  Grand-Duchess  Helen, 
the  curriculum  consisted  of  the  following  subjects :  Choral 
Singing  (Lomakin  and  Diitsch),  Solo  Singing  (Frau  Nissen- 
Soloman),  Pianoforte  (Leschetitzky  and  Beggrov),  Violin 
(Wieniawsky),  Violoncello  (Schuberth),  and  Composition 
(Zaremba).  Of  all  these  subjects  Tchaikovsky  studied  the 
last  only. 


46  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"Nicholas  Ivanovich  Zaremba  was  then  forty  years  of 
age.  A  Pole  by  birth,  he  had  studied  law  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  St.  Petersburg,  and  had  been  a  clerk  in  one  of  the 
Government  offices.  .  .  Music — especially  composition — 
he  had  studied  in  Berlin  under  the  celebrated  theorist 
Marx,  whom  he  almost  worshipped.  As  a  composer, 
Zaremba  is  not  known  to  me.  Never  once,  either  in  class 
or  during  his  private  lessons,  did  he  say  so  much  as  a  word 
about  his  own  compositions.  Only  on  one  occasion  he  in- 
vited Peter  Ilich  to  his  house  and,  when  they  were  alone 
together,  showed  him  the  manuscript  of  a  string  quartet  of 
his  own.  The  following  day  Peter  Ilich  told  me  the  work 
was  '  very  nice,  in  the  style  of  Haydn.' 

"  Zaremba  had  many  of  the  qualities  of  an  ideal  teacher. 
Although,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  teaching  was  somewhat 
new  to  him,  he  appeared  fully  equipped,  with  a  course  map- 
ped out  to  the  smallest  details,  firm  in  his  aesthetic  views, 
and  inventive  in  illustrating  his  subject.  ...  As  became 
an  out-and-out  follower  of  Marx,  Zaremba  was  a  progressive 
liberal  as  regards  music,  believed  in  Beethoven  (particularly 
in  his  latest  period),  detested  the  bondage  of  the  schools, 
and  was  more  disposed  to  leave  his  pupils  to  themselves 
than  to  restrict  and  hamper  them  with  excessive  severity. 
He  taught  on  Marx's  method,  with  one  deviation :  he 
followed  up  his  harmony  course  by  one  on  strict  counter- 
point, using  a  text  book  of  Heinrich  Bellermann's.  I  do  not 
think,  however,  that  he  taught  this  on  his  own  initiative, 
but  possibly  at  Rubinstein's  expressed  wish. 

"  I  have  spoken  of  Zaremba  as  progressive.  He  was 
actually  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  Beethoven's  later  period ; 
but  he  stopped  short  at  Beethoven,  or  rather  at  Mendels- 
sohn. The  later  development  of  German  music,  which 
started  from  Schumann,  was  unknown  to  him.  He  knew 
nothing  of  Berlioz  and  ignored  Glinka.  With  regard  to 
the  latter  he  showed  very  plainly  his  alienation  from  Rus- 
sian soil.  Tchaikovsky,  who  was  more  disposed  towards 
empiricism,  and  by  nature  antagonistic  to  all  abstractions, 
did  not  admire  Zaremba's  showy  eloquence,  nor  yet  that 
structure  of  superficial  logic,  from  the  shelter  of  which  he 
thundered  forth  his  violent  and  arbitrary  views.  The  mis- 
understanding between  pupil  and  teacher  was  aggravated 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  47 

by  the  fact  that  Zaremba  most  frequently  cited  the  authority 
of  Beethoven,  while,  following  the  example  of  his  master, 
Marx,  he  secretly  —  and  sometimes  openly  —  despised 
Mozart.  Tchaikovsky,  on  the  contrary,  had  more  respect 
than  enthusiasm  for  Beethoven,  and  never  aimed  at  follow- 
ing in  his  footsteps.  His  judgment  was  always  somewhat 
sceptical ;  his  need  of  independence  remarkable.  During 
all  the  years  I  knew  him,  he  never  once  submitted  blindly 
to  any  influence,  nor  swore  by  anyone  in  verba  magistri. 
His  personal  feelings  sometimes  coloured  his  views. 
Zaremba,  however,  exercised  no  such  fascination  for  him. 
Neither  in  Tchaikovsky  the  composer,  nor  in  Tchaikovsky 
the  professor,  do  we  find  any  subsequent  traces  of  Zaremba's 
teaching.  This  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  the  com- 
poser went  to  him  as  a  beginner  to  be  grounded  in  the 
rudiments  of  musical  theory,  so  that  he  had  every  oppor- 
tunity of  making  a  deep  and  lasting  impression.  I  must, 
however,  relate  one  occurrence  which  partially  contradicts 
my  statement  that  Zaremba  had  no  influence  whatever 
upon  his  pupil.  When  in  1862,  or  the  following  year,  I 
expressed  my  admiration  for  the  energy  and  industry  with 
which  Tchaikovsky  was  working,  he  replied  that  when  he 
first  attended  Zaremba's  classes  he  had  not  been  so  zealous, 
but  had  worked  in  'a  very  superficial  way,  like  a  true 
amateur/  until  on  one  occasion  Zaremba  had  drawn  him 
aside  and  impressed  upon  him  the  necessity  of  being  more 
earnest  and  industrious,  because  he  possessed  a  fine  talent. 
Deeply  touched,  Peter  Ilich  resolved  to  conquer  his  in- 
dolence, and  from  that  moment  worked  with  untiring  zeal 
and  energy. 

"From  1 86 1-2  Tchaikovsky  learnt  harmony,  and  from 
1862-3  studied  strict  counterpoint  and  the  church  modes 
under  Zaremba,  with  whom,  in  September,  1863,  he  began 
also  to  study  form  ;  while  about  the  same  time  he  passed 
into  Rubinstein's  class  for  instrumentation. 

"  The  great  personality  of  the  Director  of  the  Conserva- 
toire inspired  us  students  with  unbounded  affection, 
mingled  with  not  a  little  awe.  In  reality  no  teacher  was 
more  considerate  and  kindly,  but  his  forbidding  appear- 
ance, his  hot  temper  and  roughness,  added  to  the  glamour 
of  his  European  fame,  impressed  us  profoundly. 


48  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  Besides  the  direction  of  the  Conservatoire,  he  taught 
the  piano,  and  his  class  was  the  desired  goal  of  every 
young  pianist  in  the  school,  for  although  the  other  pro- 
fessors (Gerke,  Dreyschock,  and  Leschetitzky)  had  ex- 
cellent reputations,  they  were  overshadowed  by  Rubin- 
stein's fame  and  by  his  wonderful  playing.  In  his  class, 
which  then  consisted  of  three  male  students  and  a  host  of 
women,  Rubinstein  would  often  set  the  most  comical  tasks. 
On  one  occasion,  for  instance,  he  made  his  pupils  play 
Czerny's  "  Daily  Studies  "  in  every  key,  keeping  precisely 
the  same  fingering  throughout.  His  pupils  were  very 
proud  of  the  ordeals  they  were  made  to  undergo,  and  their 
narrations  aroused  the  envy  of  all  the  other  classes.  As  a 
teacher  of  theory  Anton  Rubinstein  was  just  the  opposite 
of  Zaremba.  While  the  latter  was  remarkably  eloquent, 
the  former  was  taciturn  to  the  last  degree.  Rubinstein 
spoke  a  number  of  languages,  but  none  quite  correctly.  In 
Russian  he  often  expressed  himself  fluently  and  appropri- 
ately, but  his  grammar  was  sometimes  faulty,  which  was 
very  noticeable  in  his  exposition  of  a  theoretical  problem, 
demanding  logical  sequence.  Yet  it  was  remarkable  that 
this  deficiency  in  no  way  spoilt  his  lectures.  With  Zaremba, 
all  was  systematic,  each  word  had  its  own  place.  With 
Rubinstein,  reigned  a  fascinating  disorder.  I  believe  that 
ten  minutes  before  the  lesson  he  did  not  know  what  he  was 
going  to  talk  about,  and  left  all  to  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment.  Although  the  literary  form  of  his  lectures 
suffered  in  consequence,  and  defied  all  criticism,  they  im- 
pressed us  deeply,  and  we  attended  them  with  great 
interest.  Rubinstein's  extraordinary  practical  knowledge, 
his  breadth  of  view,  his  experience  as  a  composer — almost 
incredible  for  a  man  of  thirty — invested  his  words  with  an 
authority  of  which  we  could  not  fail  to  be  sensible.  Even 
the  paradoxes  he  indulged  in,  which  sometimes  irritated 
and  sometimes  amused  us,  bore  the  stamp  of  genius  and 
thought.  As  I  have  said,  Rubinstein  had  no  system  what- 
ever. If  he  observed  in  the  course  of  a  lesson  that  he  was 
not  in  touch  with  his  pupils,  he  was  not  discouraged,  and 
always  discovered  some  new  way — as  also  in  his  pianoforte 
class — by  which  to  impart  some  of  his  original  ideas.  On 
one  occasion  he  set  Tchaikovsky  the  task  of  orchestrating 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  49 

Beethoven's  D  minor  sonata  in  four  different  ways.  Peter 
Ilich  elaborated  one  of  these  arrangements,  introducing  the 
English  horn  and  all  manner  of  unusual  accessories,  for 
which  the  master  reprimanded  him  severely.  I  must  add 
that  Rubinstein  was  sincerely  attached  to  Tchaikovsky, 
although  he  never  valued  his  genius  at  its  true  worth.  It 
is  not  difficult  to  understand  this,  because  Tchaikovsky's 
artistic  growth  was  perfectly  normal  and  equal,  and  quite 
devoid  of  any  startling  developments.  His  work,  which 
was  generally  of  level  excellence,  lacked  that  brilliancy 
which  rejoices  the  astonished  teacher. 

"  Rubinstein,  on  the  contrary,  cast  a  magic  spell  over 
Tchaikovsky.  The  pupil,  who  kept  his  complete  indepen- 
dence of  judgment,  and  even  made  fun  of  his  master's  lack 
of  logic  and  grammar  in  his  lectures,  contemplated,  not 
without  bitterness,  his  mass  of  colourless  and  insipid  com- 
positions. But  neither  the  peculiarities  of  the  teacher,  nor 
the  ever-increasing  weakness  of  his  works,  could  under- 
mine Tchaikovsky's  regard  for  him  as  a  man.  This  senti- 
ment remained  with  him  to  the  last,  although  his  relations 
with  Anton  were  never  so  intimate  as  with  his  brother, 
Nicholas  Rubinstein.  At  this  period  of  our  lives  Tchai- 
kovsky's personal  respect  for  his  master  was  of  the  greatest 
service  to  him.  It  made  his  work  easier  and  gave  impulse 
to  his  powers.  Rubinstein  observed  his  pupil's  zeal,  and 
made  increasing  demands  upon  his  capacity  for  work.  But 
the  harder  the  tasks  set  him,  the  more  energetic  Tchaikov- 
sky became.  Sometimes  he  spent  the  whole  night  upon 
some  score  he  wished  to  lay  before  his  insatiable  teacher 
on  the  following  day.  This  extraordinary  industry  does 
not  appear  to  have  injured  his  health. 

"The  silent  protest  Tchaikovsky  raised  against  Zaremba's 
methods  affected  in  a  lesser  degree  his  relations  with 
Rubinstein.  The  latter  had  grown  up  in  the  period 
of  Schubert,  Mendelssohn  and  Schumann,  and  recognised 
only  their  orchestra,  that  is,  the  orchestra  of  Beethoven, 
with  the  addition  of  three  trombones — natural  horns  and 
trumpets  being  replaced  by  chromatic  ones.  We  young 
folk,  however,  were  enthusiasts  for  the  most  modern 
of  orchestras.  Tchaikovsky  was  familiar  with  this  style 
of  orchestration  from  the  operas  of  Meyerbeer  and  Glinka. 


50  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

He  also  heard  it  at  the  rehearsals  of  the  Musical  Society  (to 
which,  as  students,  we  had  free  access),  where  Rubinstein 
conducted  works  by  Meyerbeer,  Berlioz,  Liszt  and  Wagner. 
Finally,  in  1862,  Wagner  himself  visited  Petersburg,  and 
made  us  acquainted  in  a  series  of  concerts,  not  only  with 
the  most  famous  excerpts  from  his  earlier  operas,  but  also 
with  portions  of  the  Nibelungen  Ring.  It  was  not  so  much 
Wagner's  music  as  his  instrumentation  which  impressed 
Tchaikovsky.  It  is  remarkable  that,  with  all  his  love  for 
Mozart,  he  never  once  attempted,  even  as  a  tour  de  force,  to 
write  for  the  classical  orchestra.  His  medium  of  expression 
was  the  full  modern  orchestra,  which  came  after  Meyerbeer. 
He  did  not  easily  acquire  the  mastery  of  this  orchestra,  but 
his  preference  for  it  was  already  established.  Rubinstein 
understood  it  admirably,  and  explained  its  resources 
scientifically  to  his  pupils,  in  the  hope  that  having  once 
learnt  its  secrets,  they  would  lay  it  aside  for  ever.  In 
this  respect  he  experienced  a  bitter  disappointment  in 
Tchaikovsky. 

"  In  spring  the  students  were  generally  set  an  important 
task  to  be  completed  during  the  summer  holidays.  In  the 
summer  of  1 864  Tchaikovsky  was  expected  to  write  a  long 
overture  on  the  subject  of  Ostrovsky's  x  drama,  The  Storm. 
This  work  he  scored  for  the  most  '  heretical '  orchestra : 
tuba,  English  horn,  harp,  tremolo  for  violins  divisi,  etc. 
When  the  work  was  finished  he  sent  it  to  me  by  post,  with 
the  request  that  I  would  take  it  to  Rubinstein  (I  cannot 
remember  why  he  could  not  attend  in  person).  I  carried 
out  his  wish,  and  Rubinstein  told  me  to  return  in  a  few 
days  to  hear  his  opinion.  Never  in  the  course  of  my  life 
have  I  had  to  listen  to  such  a  homily  on  my  own  sins 
as  I  then  endured  vicariously  (it  was  Sunday  morning 
too !).  With  unconscious  humour,  Rubinstein  asked : 
*  How  dared  you  bring  me  such  a  specimen  of  your  own 
composition/  and  proceeded  to  pour  such  vials  of  wrath 
upon  my  head  that  apparently  he  had  nothing  left  for  the 
real  culprit,  for  when  Peter  Ilich  himself  appeared  a  few 
days  later,  the  Director  received  him  amiably,  and  only 
made  a  few  remarks  upon  the  overture.  .  .  . 

1  The  greatest  Russian  dramatist.  His  most  celebrated  plays  are  :  The 
Storm,  The  Forest,  The  Poor  Bride,  Snow  White,  The  Wolf  and  the  Sheep. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  51 

"One  of  Rubinstein's  most  urgent  desires  was  the  or- 
ganisation of  a  school  orchestra.  In  the  early  days  of 
the  Conservatoire,  however,  there  was  no  immediate  hope 
of  realising  this  wish.  Apart  from  the  numerous  violinists, 
attracted  by  the  name  of  Wieniawsky,  there  were  few, 
during  the  first  year,  who  could  play  any  other  orchestral 
instrument  even  tolerably  well.  Rubinstein,  who  at  that 
time  had  no  great  income,  spent  at  least  1,500  roubles 
in  the  gratuitous  tuition  of  those  instruments  he  needed 
for  his  orchestra.  There  was  an  immediate  response 
among  those  who  were  enterprising.  Tchaikovsky  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  learn  the  flute.  He  studied  for  two 
years,  and  became  a  satisfactory  second  flute  in  this 
orchestra.  On  one  occasion  he  took  part  in  a  flute 
quartet  of  Kuhlau's  at  a  musical  evening  in  honour 
of  Madame  Clara  Schumann's  visit  to  Petersburg.  After- 
wards, finding  no  special  use  for  this  accomplishment,  he 
gave  it  up  entirely. 

"Of  even  less  importance  were  the  organ  lessons  he  took 
for  a  time  from  the  famous  Heinrich  Stiehl.  The  majestic 
tone  of  this  instrument,  heard  in  the  mystic  twilight  of 
the  empty  Lutheran  church  in  Petersburg,  made  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  Tchaikovsky's  poetic  temperament. 
But  the  impression  was  fleeting ;  his  imagination  was 
attracted  in  other  directions,  and  he  grew  more  and  more 
remote  from  the  works  of  Bach.  He  never  composed  a 
single  piece  for  this  instrument." 


V 

"In  the  biography  of  an  artist,"  continues  Laroche, 
"side  by  side  with  his  individual  evolution,  the  close 
observation  of  all  external  influences  with  which  he 
comes  in  contact  plays  an  important  part.  In  Tchaikov- 
sky's case,  I  place  among  these  influences,  the  musical 
repertory  which  was  familiar  to  him,  and  such  composi- 
tions as  he  specially  studied  or  cared  for.  During  the 
whole  of  his  time  at  the  Conservatoire,  especially  during 


52  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  first  two  years,  I  was  constantly  with  him,  and  am 
therefore  a  fair  judge  of  the  works  which  more  or  less  left 
their  impress  upon  his  mind.  I  can  enumerate  almost 
all  the  compositions  we  played  together  during  his  first 
year :  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony,  Schumann's  Third 
Symphony,  his  Paradise  and  the  Peri,  and  Lohengrin. 
Tchaikovsky  grumbled  when  I  made  him  play  long  vocal 
works  with  endless  recitatives,  which  became  very  weari- 
some on  the  piano,  but  the  beauty  of  the  more  connected 
parts  soon  re-awakened  his  enthusiasm.  Wagner  gave 
him  the  least  pleasure.  He  simply  made  light  of  Lohengrin, 
and  only  became  reconciled  to  the  whole  opera  much  later 
in  life. 

"  One  day  he  remarked  fearlessly :  c  I  am  sure  of  this 
— Serov  has  more  talent  for  composition  than  Wagner.' 
Schumann's  Third  Symphony  and  Rubinstein's  '  Ocean ' 
Symphony  made  the  greatest  impression  upon  him.  Later 
on,  under  the  baton  of  the  composer,  our  enthusiasm  for  the 
latter  continually  increased.  Many  readers  will  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  one  of  Tchaikovsky's  earliest  crazes  was  for 
Henri  Litolff — but  only  for  the  two  overtures,  Robespierre 
and  Les  Girondistes.  I  can  say  without  exaggeration  that, 
after  hearing  these  two  overtures  and  Meyerbeer's  Stru- 
ensee,  Tchaikovsky  was  always  an  impassioned  lover  of 
programme  music.  In  his  early  overtures,  including  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  the  influence  of  LitolfT  is  easily  perceptible, 
while  he  approached  Liszt — who  did  far  more  to  inspire  the 
young  generation — with  hesitation  and  mistrust.  During 
his  student  years,  Orpheus  was  the  only  one  of  Liszt's 
symphonic  poems  which  attracted  him.  The  Faust  Sym- 
phony he  only  valued  long  afterwards.  It  is  but  fair  to 
state  that  Liszt's  symphonic  poems,  which  enslaved  a 
whole  generation  of  Russian  composers,  only  exercised 
an  insignificant  and  ephemeral  influence  upon  Tchai- 
kovsky. 

"  It  is  important  to  observe  that,  at  this  early  period, 
he  showed  many  curious  and  morbid  musical  antipathies 
which  he  entirely  outgrew.  These  dislikes  were  .not 
for  particular  composers,  but  for  certain  styles  of  com- 
position, or,  more  strictly  speaking,  for  their  quality  of 
sound.  For  instance,  he  did  not  like  the  combination 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  53 

of  piano  and  orchestra,  nor  the  timbre  of  a  string  quartet 
or  quintet,  and  least  of  all  the  effect  of  the  piano  with 
one  or  more  stringed  instruments.  Although,  for  the 
sake  of  experience,  he  had  studied  the  general  repertory 
of  chamber  music  and  pianoforte  concertos,  and  now 
and  then  was  charmed  by  a  work  of  this  nature,  he 
afterwards  took  the  first  opportunity  of  condemning  its 
'detestable'  quality  of  tone.  Not  once,  but  hundreds  of 
times,  he  has  vowed  in  my  presence  never  to  compose 
a  pianoforte  concerto,  nor  a  violin  and  piano  sonata, 
nor  any  work  of  this  class.  As  regards  the  violin 
and  pianoforte  sonata,  he  has  kept  his  word.  Not  less 
strange  was  his  determination,  at  this  time,  never  to  write 
any  small  pieces  for  piano,  or  songs.  He  spoke  of  the 
latter  with  the  greatest  dislike.  But  this  hatred  must 
have  been  quite  Platonic,  for  the  next  minute  he  was 
growing  enthusiastic  with  me  over  the  songs  of  Glinka, 
Schumann,  or  Schubert. 

"  At  this  period  in  his  life  it  was  a  kind  of  mania  to 
declare  himself  quite  incapable  in  certain  branches  of  his 
art.  For  instance,  he  often  declared  he  was  absolutely 
unable  to  conduct.  The  art  of  conducting  goes  frequently 
with  that  of  accompanying,  and  he  was  an  excellent 
accompanist.  This  fact  alone  should  have  sufficed  to 
prove  the  groundlessness  of  his  assertions.  At  the  Con- 
servatoire the  advanced  students  in  the  composition  class 
were  expected  to  conduct  the  school  orchestra  in  turn. 
Tchaikovsky  stood  first  on  the  list.  I  cannot  remember 
whether  he  distinguished  himself  on  this  occasion,  but  I 
know  that  nothing  particularly  dreadful  happened,  and 
that  he  made  no  evident  fiasco.  Nevertheless  he  made 
this  first  experience  the  confirmation  of  his  opinion.  He 
declared  that  having  to  stand  at  the  raised  desk  in  front  of 
the  orchestra  produced  such  nervous  sensations  that  all 
the  time  he  felt  his  head  must  fall  off  his  shoulders ;  in 
order  to  prevent  this  catastrophe,  he  kept  his  left  hand 
under  his  chin  and  only  conducted  with  his  right.  This 
fixed  idea  lasted  for  years. 

"In  1868  Tchaikovsky  was  invited  to  conduct  the 
dances  from  his  opera  The  Voyevode  at  a  charity  concert 
given  in  Moscow.  I  still  see  him  before  me,  the  baton 


54  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

in  his  right  hand,  while  his  left  firmly  supported  his  fair 
beard ! 

"  Tchaikovsky  s  ardent  admiration  for  Glinka,  especially 
for  the  opera  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,  included  also  this  com- 
poser's incidental  music  to  the  tragedy  Prince  Kholmsky. 
As  regards  Russian  and  Lioudmilla,  his  views  varied  at 
first.  Early  in  the  sixties  he  knew  only  a  few  numbers 
from  Glinka's  second  opera,  which  pleased  him  unre- 
servedly. He  was  equally  delighted  with  the  music  and 
libretto  of  Serov's  opera  Judith,  which  he  heard  in  1863. 
It  is  remarkable  that  while  a  few  masterpieces,  such  as 
Don  Juan,  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,  and  Schubert's  Symphony 
in  C,  took  their  places  once  and  for  ever  in  his  apprecia- 
tion, his  judgment  of  other  musical  works  was  subject 
to  considerable  fluctuation.  One  year  he  was  carried  away 
by  Beethoven's  Eighth.  Symphony,  the  next  he  pronounced 
it  'very  nice,  but  nothing  more.'  For  years  he  declared 
the  music  to  Faust  by  Pugni  (a  well-known  composer 
of  ballets)  was  infinitely  superior  to  Gounod's  opera,  and 
afterwards  he  described  the  French  composer's  work  as 
'a  masterpiece.'  Therefore  it  is  all  the  more  remarkable 
that  he  remained  faithful  to  Serov's  opera  Judith  to  the  end 
of  his  days. 

"  His  attitude  to  Serov's  literary  work  was  exceedingly 
sceptical.  We  both  attended  the  popular  lectures  given  by 
this  critic  in  1 864,  and  were  amused  at  his  desperate  efforts 
to  overthrow  the  authority  of  the  Conservatoire,  to  abase 
Glinka  and  to  exalt  Verstovsky.1  Serov's  attack  upon 
Rubinstein  would  in  itself  have  lowered  him  in  the  eyes 
of  so  devoted  an  adherent  as  Tchaikovsky,  but  he  disliked 
him  still  more  for  such  expressions  as  'the  spiritual  con- 
tents of  music/  'the  organic  unity  of  the  music  drama/ 
and  similar  phrases,  under  which  Serov  concealed  his 
vacillation  and  extraordinary  lack  of  principle. 

"Tchaikovsky's  personal  relations  with  the  composer 
of  Judith  are  only  known  to  me  in  part.  They  met,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken,  in  the  autumn  of  1864,  and  I  was 
the  means  of  their  becoming  acquainted.  One  of  our 
fellow-students  named  Slavinsky,  who  visited  Serov,  invited 

1  Alexis  Nicholaevich  Verstovsky,  the  composer  of  a  popular  opera,  Askold's 
Grave. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  55 

me  to  go  with  him  to  one  of  his  '  composer's  Tuesdays.' 
About  a  year  later  I  introduced  Tchaikovsky  to  Serov.  I 
recollect  how  on  that  particular  evening  Dostoievsky  talked 
a  great  deal — and  very  foolishly — about  music,  as  literary 
men  do,  who  know  nothing  whatever  about  it.  Serov's 
personality  did  not  please  Tchaikovsky,  and  I  do  not  think 
he  ever  went  again,  although  he  received  a  pressing  invita- 
tion to  do  so. 

"Besides  N.  A.  Hubert  and  myself,  I  cannot  recall  a 
single  student  at  the  Conservatoire  with  whom  Tchai- 
kovsky kept  up  a  lasting  intimacy.  He  was  pleasant  to  all, 
and  addressed  a  few  in  the  familiar  second  person  singular. 
Among  these  passing  friends  I  may  mention  Gustav  Kross, 
afterwards  the  first  to  play  Tchaikovsky's  pianoforte  con- 
certo in  public  ;  Richard  Metzdorf,  who  settled  in  Germany 
as  a  composer  and  Capellmeister ;  Karl  van  Ark,  who 
became  a  professor  at  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire ; 
Slavinsky  and  Joseph  Lodscher.  Of  these  fellow-students, 
the  name  of  Nicholas  Hubert  occurs  most  frequently  in 
subsequent  pages.  In  spite  of  his  foreign  name,  Hubert 
was  really  of  Russian  descent.  From  his  childhood  he 
lived  only  in  and  for  music,  and  very  early  in  life  had 
to  earn  his  living  by  teaching.  The  number  of  lessons  he 
gave,  combined  with  his  weak  and  uncertain  health,  pre- 
vented him  from  working  very  hard  at  the  Conservatoire, 
but  he  impressed  us  as  talented  and  clever.  He  was  fond 
of  assembling  his  friends  round  the  tea-table  in  his  large, 
but  scantily-furnished  room,  when  the  evening  would  be 
spent  in  music  and  discussion.  Tchaikovsky,  Lodscher 
and  myself  were  the  most  regular  guests  at  these  evenings. 
The  real  intimacy,  however,  between  Tchaikovsky  and 
Hubert  did  not  actually  begin  until  many  years  later — 
about  the  middle  of  the  eighties." 

With  this  chapter  Laroche's  reminiscences  of  Tchai- 
kovsky come  to  an  end. 


56  LIFE    AND   LETTERS    OF 


VI 

In  the  autumn  of  1863  the  mother  of  Leo  Davidov,  who 
had  married  Tchaikovsky's  sister,  came  to  settle  in  St. 
Petersburg. 

Alexandra  Ivanovna,  widow  of  the  famous  Decembrist, 
Vassily  Davidov,  was  a  vigorous,  kindly  clever  old  lady, 
who  had  seen  and  suffered  much  in  her  day.  Of  her  very 
numerous  family,  four  daughters  and  her  youngest  son  had 
accompanied  her  to  Petersburg.  Two  of  these  daughters, 
Elizabeth  and  Vera,  became  very  friendly  with  Tchai- 
kovsky, thanks  to  their  common  love  of  music. 

Peter  Ilich  never  felt  more  at  home  than  at  the 
Davidovs.  Apart  from  the  pleasure  of  acting  as  a  guide 
to  Vera  in  musical  matters — introducing  her  to  the  works 
of  Schumann,  Berlioz,  and  Glinka,  whose  charm  he  had 
only  just  discovered  for  himself — he  thoroughly  enjoyed 
talking  to  her  mother  and  sister. 

Tchaikovsky  was  always  deeply  interested  in  his 
country's  past,  especially  in  the  period  of  Catherine  II. 
and  Alexander  I.  Alexandra  Davidov  was,  so  to  speak, 
a  living  chapter  of  history  from  the  last  years  of  Alex- 
ander's reign,  and  had  known  personally  many  famous 
men  of  the  time,  among  them  the  poet  Poushkin,  who 
often  visited  the  Davidovs  at  Kamenka.  Consequently 
Tchaikovsky  delighted  in  hearing  her  recall  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  those  far-off  days. 

Her  daughter  Elizabeth,  an  elderly  spinster,  also 
excited  his  interest.  She  had  been  entrusted  by  her 
mother,  when  the  latter  had  voluntarily  followed  her 
husband  into  exile,  to  the  care  of  Countess  Tchernischov- 
Kruglikov,  and  grew  up  in  a  house  frequented  by  all 
the  notabilities  of  the  early  years  of  Nicholas  I.'s  reign. 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN     1863 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  57 

She  knew  Gogol  and  Poushkin,  and  had  made  many 
journeys  to  Europe  and  Siberia.  Besides  which  she 
was  deeply  interested  in  art  and  literature,  and  had  a 
decided  talent  for  drawing. 

Among  the  few  acquaintances  who  continued  to  show  a 
friendly  attitude  to  Tchaikovsky,  in  spite  of  his  becoming 
a  musician,  was  Prince  Alexis  Galitsin.  He  helped  the 
struggling  student  and  teacher  by  recommending  him  to 
private  pupils,  and  invited  him  to  spend  the  summer  on 
his  estate,  Trostinetz,  in  the  Government  of  Kharkov. 

Life  at  the  Prince's  country-seat  seemed  to  Tchai- 
kovsky like  a  fairy  tale.  One  event  will  suffice  to  show 
the  attention  with  which  he  was  treated  by  his  host.  On 
his  name-day,  June  29th  (July  nth),  the  Prince  gave  an 
entertainment  in  his  honour.  After  early  service  there 
was  a  breakfast,  and  in  the  evening,  after  dark,  a  walk 
through  the  forest,  the  paths  being  illuminated  by  torches, 
which  made  a  grand  effect.  In  the  heart  of  the  woods  a 
tent  had  been  raised,  in  which  a  banquet  was  prepared  ; 
while,  on  the  open  green  around  it,  all  kinds  of  national 
amusements  were  organised  in  honour  of  the  musician. 

During  this  visit,  Tchaikovsky  composed  and  orches- 
trated his  first  independent  musical  work,  the  overture  to 
his  favourite  Russian  play,  The  Storm,  by  Ostrovsky.  He 
had  already  hankered  to  write  an  opera  on  this  play, 
consequently  when  Rubinstein  set  him  to  compose  an 
overture  by  way  of  a  holiday  task,  he  naturally  selected 
the  subject  which  had  interested  him  for  so  long.  On 
page  30  of  his  instrumentation  sketch-book  for  1863-4 
he  made  a  pencil  note  of  the  programme  of  this 
overture : — 

"  Introduction ;  adagio  (Catharine's  childhood  and  life 
before  marriage) ;  allegro  (the  threatening  of  the  storm) ; 
her  longing  for  a  truer  love  and  happiness ;  allegro 
appassionato  (her  spiritual  conflict).  Sudden  change  to 
evening  on  the  banks  of  the  Volga :  the  same  conflict, 


58  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

but  with  traces  of  feverish  joy.  The  coming  of  the  storm 
(repetition  of  the  theme  which  follows  the  adagio  and  the 
further  development  of  it).  The  Storm :  the  climax  of 
her  desperate  conflict — Death." 

The  next  important  composition,  which  was  not  lost, 
like  so  many  of  Tchaikovsky's  early  works,  was  the 
"  Dances  of  the  Serving  Girls,"  afterwards  employed  as  a 
ballet  in  his  opera,  The  Voyevode.  It  is  impossible  to  fix 
the  precise  date  at  which  these  dances  were  composed, 
but  early  in  1865  they  were  already  finished  and  orches- 
trated. 


VII 

In  1865  Tchaikovsky's  father  married — for  the  third  time 
— a  widow,  Elizabeth  Alexandrov.  This  event  made  no 
difference  to  the  life  of  Peter  Ilich,  for  he  was  attached  to 
his  stepmother,  whom  he  had  known  for  several  years,  and 
to  whom  he  often  went  for  advice  in  moments  of  doubt 
and  difficulty.  The  summer  of  this  year  was  spent  with 
his  sister  at  Kamenka. 

Kamenka,  of  which  we  hear  so  much  in  the  life  of  Peter 
Ilich,  is  a  rural  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiasmin,  in  the 
Government  of  Kiev,  and  forms  part  of  the  great  estate 
which  Tchaikovsky's  brother-in-law  had  inherited  from  the 
exiled  Decembrist  Vassily  Davidov.  The  place  has  his- 
torical associations,  having  been  the  centre  of  the  revolu- 
tionary movement  which  disturbed  the  last  years  of 
Alexander  I.  Here,  too,  the  poet  Poushkin  came  as  a  visi- 
tor, and  his  famous  poem, "  The  Prisoner  in  the  Caucasus," 
is  said  to  have  been  written  at  Kamenka.  The  property 
actually  belonged  to  an  elder  brother,  Nicholas  Davidov, 
who  practically  resigned  it  to  the  management  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's brother-in-law,  preferring  the  pleasures  of  his 
library  and  garden  to  the  responsibilities  of  a  great  land- 
owner. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  59 

Kamenka  did  not  boast  great  natural  charms,  neverthe- 
less Tchaikovsky  enjoyed  his  visit  there,  and  soon  forgot 
the  luxuries  of  Trostinetz. 

Nicholas  Davidov,  although  a  kindly  and  sympathetic 
nature,  held  decided  opinions  of  his  own,  which  were  not 
altogether  in  keeping  with  the  liberalism  then  in  vogue. 
This  strong-minded  man,  who  thought  things  out  for  him- 
self, impressed  Tchaikovsky,  and  changed  his  political  out- 
look. Throughout  life  the  composer  took  no  very  strong 
political  views ;  his  tendencies  leaned  now  one  way,  now 
another;  but  from  the  time  of  his  acquaintance  with 
Nicholas  Davidov  his  views  were  more  disposed  towards 
conservativism.  It  was,  however,  the  happy  household  at 
Kamenka  that  exercised  the  greatest  influence  upon 
Tchaikovsky.  Henceforth  his  sister's  family  became  his 
favourite  refuge,  whither,  in  days  to  come,  he  went  to  rest 
from  the  cares  and  excitements  of  life,  and  where,  twelve 
years  later,  he  made  a  temporary  home. 

Perhaps  these  pleasant  impressions  were  also  strengthened 
by  the  consciousness  of  work  well  accomplished.  Anton 
Rubinstein  had  set  him  a  second  task — the  translation 
of  Gevaert's  treatise  on  Instrumentation.  This  he  carried 
out  admirably,  besides  the  composition  of  the  overture. 

At  Kamenka  he  had  one  disappointing  experience. 
He  had  heard  so  much  of  the  beauty  of  the  Little  Russian 
folk-songs,  and  hoped  to  amass  material  for  his  future 
compositions.  This  was  not  to  be.  The  songs  he  heard 
seemed  to  him  artificial  and  retouched,  and  by  no  means 
equal  in  beauty  or  originality  to  the  folk  melodies 
of  Great  Russia.  He  only  wrote  down  one  song  while  at 
Kamenka — a  tune  sung  daily  by  the  women  who  worked 
in  the  garden.  He  first  used  this  melody  in  a  string 
quartet,  which  he  began  to  compose  in  the  autumn,  but 
afterwards  changed  it  into  the  Scherzo  a  la  russe  for  piano- 
forte, Op.  i.  No.  i.  Towards  the  end  of  August,  Tchai- 
kovsky returned  to  Petersburg  with  his  brothers. 


60  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  Petersburg  welcomed  us  with  a  deluge  of  rain,"  he 
wrote  to  his  sister  on  his  return.  But  in  many  other 
respects  also  the  town  made  an  unfavourable  impression 
upon  Tchaikovsky.  In  the  first  place,  the  question  of  a 
lodging  gave  him  considerable  trouble.  The  room  which 
he  had  engaged  for  eight  roubles  a  month  was  small  and 
uncomfortable.  The  longer  he  stayed,  the  more  he  dis- 
liked it.  He  tried  various  quarters  without  finding  the 
quiet  which  was  the  first  essential,  and,  in  November, 
finally  took  possession  of  a  room  lent  him  by  his  friend, 
Apukhtin,  who  was  going  away  for  a  time. 

Another  unpleasant  experience  took  the  form  of  an 
obstinate  affection  of  the  eyes,  which  hindered  him  from 
working  regularly.  Lastly,  he  began  to  feel  some  anxiety 
as  to  his  future  livelihood  when  his  course  at  the  Conserva- 
toire should  have  come  to  an  end.  To  continue  in  his 
present  course  of  existence  seemed  to  him  terrible.  The 
small  income,  which  hitherto  only  had  to  serve  him  for 
his  lesser  needs,  had  now  to  cover  board  and  lodging — 
in  fact,  his  entire  expenses. 

We  may  guess  how  hard  was  his  struggle  with  poverty, 
when  we  find  him  once  more  assailed  by  doubts  as  to 
his  wisdom  in  having  chosen  the  musical  profession,  and 
even  contemplating  the  idea  of  returning  to  the  service 
of  the  State.  Some  of  his  frfends  echoed  his  momentary 
cry  of  weakness.  One  seriously  proposed  that  he  should 
accept  the  fairly  good  pay  of  an  inspector  of  meat.  To 
the  great  advantage  of  all  consumers,  and  to  the  glory 
of  Russian  music,  the  proposal  came  to  nothing. 

Simultaneously  with  Tchaikovsky's  hardest  struggle  for 
existence,  came  also  the  first  hopes  of  artistic  success. 
These  triumphs  were  very  modest  as  compared  to  those 
which  lay  in  store  for  him ;  but  at  that  period  of  his  life 
the  praise  of  his  masters,  the  applause  of  his  fellow-students, 
and  the  first  public  performance  of  his  works,  sufficed  to 
fill  him  with  happiness  and  self-confidence.  The  perform- 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  61 

ance  of  his  "  Dances  of  the  Serving  Maids,"  at  one  of  the 
summer  concerts  at  Pavlovsk,  conducted  by  the  "Valse 
King,"  Johann  Strauss,  greatly  cheered  the  young  com- 
poser. 

His  satisfaction  was  still  further  increased  when  Nicholas 
Rubinstein,  following  the  example  of  his  illustrious  brother, 
resolved  to  open  a  Conservatoire  in  Moscow,  and  engaged 
Tchaikovsky  as  Professor  of  Harmony. 

Nicholas  Rubinstein  had  first  approached  Serov,  who 
was  not  unwilling  to  accept  the  post.  But  the  extra- 
ordinary success  of  his  opera  Rogneda  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and  the  failure  of  Judith  in  Moscow,  caused  him  to  change 
his  mind  and  wish  to  remain  in  that  capital  where  he  was 
best  appreciated.  This  took  place  in  1865.  Nicholas 
Rubinstein,  seeing  no  other  way  out  of  the  difficulty, 
decided  to  offer  the  professorship  to  one  of  the  students 
of  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire,  and  his  brother  put 
forward  the  claims  of  Tchaikovsky.  Although  the  honour 
was  great,  the  emolument  was  not  attractive,  for  it 
amounted  only  to  fifty  roubles  (£5)  a  month ;  that  is  to 
say,  to  something  less  than  the  modest  income  he  had 
hitherto  managed  to  earn  in  Petersburg.  Nevertheless, 
in  November,  he  decided  to  accept  the  post. 

The  remaining  successes  of  this  period  relate  to  his 
compositions. 

In  spite  of  his  eyes  being  affected,  and  his  constant 
change  of  quarters,  the  time  had  not  been  barren.  He 
had  composed  a  string  quartet  in  Bt?  major,1  and  an 
overture  in  F  major.2  The  quartet  was  played  at  one 
of  the  pupils'  concerts  at  the  Conservatoire,  October  3Oth 
(November  nth),  1865,  and  a  fortnight  later  the  overture 
was  performed  by  the  school  orchestra,  under  the  baton  of 
the  composer. 

1  Of  this  quartet  only  the  first  movement  remains  intact.     The  others 
must  have  been  destroyed  by  the  composer  at  a  later  date. 

2  Tchaikovsky  afterwards  arranged  this  overture  for  full  orchestra,  in  which 
form  it  was  given  several  times  in  Moscow  and  Petersburg. 


62  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

In  November  of  this  year,  Tchaikovsky  set  to  work  upon 
a  cantata  for  chorus  and  orchestra,  a  setting  of  Schiller's 
Ode  to  Joy)- 

This  task  had  been  set  him  by  Anton  Rubinstein,  and 
was  intended  for  performance  at  the  prize  distribution, 
which  took  place  at  the  end  of  the  school  year.  On 
December  3ist,  1865  (January  I2th,  1866),  the  cantata  was 
performed  by  the  pupils  of  the  Conservatoire  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Directors  of  the  Russian  Musical  Society,  the 
Board  of  Examiners,  the  Director  of  the  Court  Chapel, 
Bachmetiev,  and  the  Capellmeisters  of  the  Imperial  Opera, 
Kajinsky,  Liadov  and  Ricci. 

The  composer  himself  was  not  present,  as  he  wished  to 
avoid  the  vivd  voce  examination,  which  ought  to  have  pre- 
ceded the  performance  of  the  cantata.  Anton  Rubinstein 
was  exceedingly  displeased,  and  threatened  to  withhold 
Tchaikovsky's  diploma  until  he  submitted  to  this  public 
test.  Matters  were  not  carried  so  far.  Apparently  the 
young  composer  had  given  sufficient  proof  of  his  knowledge 
in  the  cantata  itself,  and  he  received  not  only  his  diploma, 
but  a  silver  medal  in  addition. 

In  spite  of  this  official  success,  the  cantata  did  not  win 
the  approval  of  the  musical  authorities. 

Evidently  Rubinstein  was  not  satisfied  with  it,  since  he 
put  off  Tchaikovsky's  request  that  the  cantata  might  be 
performed  by  the  Russian  Musical  Society,  by  saying  that 
he  could  only  agree  on  condition  that  "  great  alterations  " 
were  made  in  the  score,  for  in  its  original  form  it  was  not 
good  enough  to  place  beside  the  works  of  other  Russian 
composers  —  Sokalsky,  Christianovich,  Rimsky-Korsakov, 
and  Balakirev.  Serov's  opinion  of  this  composition  was 
not  more  favourable. 

In  the  opposite  camp  to  Serov — among  that  young 
Russian  school  which  flocked  round  Dargomijsky,  and 

1  The  manuscript  of  this  cantata  is  in  the  archives  of  the  St.  Petersburg 
Conservatoire. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  63 

included  Balakirev,  Rimsky-Korsakov,  and  Caesar  Cui,  the 
cantata  met  with  even  less  approval.  Three  months  after 
its  performance  Cui,  then  critic  of  the  St.  Petersburg 
Viedomosti)  wound  up  his  notice  of  the  work  as  follows  : — 

"  In  a  word,  I  will  only  say  that  composers  of  the  calibre 
of  Reinthaler  and  Volkmann  will  probably  rejoice  over 
Mr.  Tchaikovsky's  cantata,  and  exclaim,  (  Our  number  is 
increased/  " 

Such  were  the  judgments  passed  upon  his  first  work  by 
the  musical  lights  and  the  Press. 

Laroche,  however,  was  of  a  different  opinion.  He  sent 
the  following  letter  to  Tchaikovsky  in  Moscow  : — 

"  PETERSBURG  (MIDNIGHT), 

"January  nth  (23^),  1866. 

"...  I  will  tell  you  frankly  that  I  consider  yours  is  the 
greatest  musical  talent  to  which  Russia  can  look  in  the 
future.  Stronger  and  more  original  than  Balakirev,  loftier 
and  more  creative  than  Serov,  far  more  refined  than 
Rimsky-Korsakov.  In  you  I  see  the  greatest — or  rather  the 
sole — hope  of  our  musical  future.  Your  own  original  crea- 
tions will  probably  not  make  their  appearance  for  another 
five  years.  But  these  ripe  and  classic  works  will  surpass 
everything  we  have  heard  since  Glinka.  To  sum  up:  I  do 
not  honour  you  so  much  for  what  you  have  done,  as  for 
what  the  force  and  vitality  of  your  genius  will  one  day 
accomplish.  The  proofs  you  have  given  so  far  are  but 
solemn  pledges  to  outdo  all  your  contemporaries." 


PART  III 


I 


i 


^CHAIKOVSKY'S  first  impressions  of  Moscow 
practically  resolve  themselves  into  his  associa- 
tion with  a  few  Muscovites,  with  whom  he  was 
destined  to  be  linked  to  the  end  of  his  days. 
His  subsequent  life  is  so  inseparably  connected  with  the 
narrow  circle  of  his  friends  in  the  old  capital,  that  the 
reader  needs  to  be  introduced  to  some  of  them  individu- 
ally, before  I  pass  on  to  my  brother's  career  as  a  teacher 
and  composer. 

At  the  head  of  these  musical  friends  stands  Nicholas 
Rubinstein,  of  whom  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  he 
was  the  greatest  influence  throughout  Tchaikovsky's  after 
career.  No  one,  artist  or  friend,  did  so  much  for  the 
advancement  of  his  fame,  gave  him  greater  support  and 
appreciation,  or  helped  him  more  to  conquer  his  first 
nervousness  and  timidity,  than  the  Director  of  the  Moscow 
Conservatoire.  Nicholas  Rubinstein  is  intimately  associ- 
ated with  every  event  in  Tchaikovsky's  private  and  public 
life.  Everywhere  we  shall  come  upon  traces  of  his  helpful 
influence.  It  is  not  too  much  to  assert  that,  during  the 
first  years  of  Tchaikovsky's  life  there,  all  Moscow  was 
personified  in  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 

Laroche,  in  his  Reminiscences,  gives  the  following  sketch 
of  the  director  : — 

"Nicholas  Rubinstein  was  born  June  2nd  (i4th),  1835. 
Like  his  celebrated  brother,  he  showed  a  remarkable  and 

64 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  65 

precocious  talent  for  music.  It  is  said  he  learnt  quicker, 
and  was  considered  to  have  more  genius  than  Anton.  But 
while  the  latter  devoted  himself  entirely  to  music  and 
studied  in  Berlin,  Nicholas  elected  for  a  university  educa- 
tion. .  .  .  As  a  student  at  the  Moscow  University,  and 
even  later — until  the  establishment  of  the  Russian  Musical 
Society — he  earned  his  living  by  teaching  the  pianoforte. 
He  had  a  number  of  pupils,  and,  as  he  himself  told  me, 
earned  at  one  time  as  much  as  7,000  roubles  (over  £700)  a 
year.  On  his  marriage  he  was  compelled  to  give  up 
playing  in  public,  on  account  of  the  objections  raised  by 
his  wife's  relations.  His  domestic  life  was  not  happy,  and 
the  differences  of  opinion  between  himself  and  his  wife's 
family  led  to  a  rupture  two  years  later.  His  unusual 
powers  were  first  recognised  when  he  succeeded  in  founding 
the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  Besides  being  a  most  gifted 
pianist,  he  had  great  talent  as  a  conductor,  and  organiser  of 
many  schemes.  He  could  represent  all  branches  of  musical 
society  in  his  own  person.  Although  he  spent  all  his 
nights  at  the  '  English  Club,'  playing  cards  for  high  stakes, 
he  managed  to  take  part  in  every  social  event,  and  was 
acquainted  with  all  circles  of  Moscow  society,  commercial, 
official,  artistic,  scientific,  and  aristocratic." 

"As  regards  art,"  says  Kashkin,  "Nicholas  Rubinstein  was 
purely  an  idealist ;  he  admitted  no  compromise,  and  was 
entirely  above  personal  likes  or  dislikes.  He  was  always 
ready  to  help  a  fellow-artist,  especially  a  Russian,  and, 
without  stopping  to  consider  his  means,  simply  gave  what- 
ever he  had  by  him  at  the  moment 

"  Externally  he  differed  greatly  from  his  brother  Anton. 
Nicholas  Rubinstein  was  short  and  stoutly  built ;  fair- 
complexioned,  with  curly  hair.  He  had  a  dreamy  ex- 
pression, a  languor  of  speech,  and  an  air  of  aristocratic 
weariness,  which  was  contradicted  by  the  indefatigable 
energy  of  his  temperament.  Probably  this  languor  pro- 
ceeded from  the  fact  that  he  scarcely  ever  slept. 

"  He  was  Tchaikovsky's  senior  by  five  years  only  ;  but  in 
these  early  days  of  their  intercourse  the  difference  be- 
tween their  ages  seemed  much  greater.  This  was  partly 
accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  Tchaikovsky  came  to 


66  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Moscow  in  a  somewhat  subordinate  position,  whereas  the 
name  of  Rubinstein  was  one  of  the  most  popular  in  the 
town ;  but  the  difference  in  character  was  also  very  great. 
Rubinstein  belonged  to  the  class  of  dominating  and  ruling 
personalities  ;  his  was  a  forceful  character  which  impressed 
all  who  came  in  contact  with  him.  Tchaikovsky,  on  the 
contrary,  was  yielding  and  submissive  in  matters  of  daily 
existence,  although  inwardly  he  protested  against  all 
attempts  to  influence  and  coerce  him,  and  generally  pre- 
served his  freedom  of  opinion,  at  least  as  regards  music. 
This  self-assertion  did  not,  however,  come  naturally  to  him, 
and  for  that  reason  he  loved  solitude.  He  avoided  his 
fellow-men,  because  he  did  not  know  how  to  hold  his  own 
among  them  ;  while  at  the  same  time  he  disliked  submitting 
to  the  will  of  others,  but  this  was  not  his  attitude  in  1866. 
At  this  time  he  was  grateful  for  Nicholas  Rubinstein's 
almost  paternal  care,  and  bowed  to  his  decision,  even  in  the 
matter  of  dress. 

"Their  friendly  relations  were  sometimes  strained,  but 
never  broken,  although  Peter  Ilich  was  occasionally  irri- 
tated by  Rubinstein's  masterful  guidance,  and  was  scolded 
in  return  for  not  being  sufficiently  docile." 

"Rubinstein's  right  hand,"  says  Laroche,  "was  Con- 
stantine  Albrecht,  the  Inspector  of  the  Conservatoire.  He 
was  about  five  years  older  than  Tchaikovsky,  and  had  held 
the  post  of  'cellist  at  the  Opera  House  since  the  age  of 
fifteen.  Albrecht  was  a  very  capable  and,  in  many  respects, 
a  very  interesting  man,  although  he  was  not  popular  with 
the  public.  Tchaikovsky  was  strongly  attracted  to  him, 
and  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Moscow  arranged  to  take  his 
meals  daily  at  his  house.  Albrecht's  views,  or  rather  con- 
victions, were  extraordinarily  paradoxical. 

"  In  politics  he  took  the  Conservative  side,  but  as  regards 
music  he  was  probably  the  most  advanced  radical  in 
Moscow.  Wagner,  Liszt,  Beethoven  in  his  last  period, 
and  certain  things  of  Schumann,  were  all  he  would 
acknowledge.  I  must  add,  by  way  of  an  eccentricity,  his 
admiration  for  Dargomijsky's  Roussalka.  He  was  an 
admirable  choral  conductor,  and  did  good  work  in  this 
branch  of  his  art,  for  many  of  the  pupils  trained  by  him 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  67 

turned  out  excellent  teachers.  Besides  music,  Albrecht 
took  great  interest  in  natural  science  and  mathematics.  In 
summer  he  was  an  enthusiastic  hunter  of  beetles  and 
butterflies.  But  for  the  subjects  in  which  a  musician 
should  be  interested — history,  poetry,  belles-lettres  he 
showed  the  most  complete  indifference.  I  doubt  if  he  had 
ever  read  a  novel.  .  .  ." 

Tchaikovsky  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  Albrecht  as  a 
composer,  and  often  regretted  that  so  much  talent  should 
be  wasted.  But  it  was  his  kindliness  of  heart,  and  above 
all  his  innate  sense  of  humour,  which  appealed  most  to 
Peter  Ilich. 

Very  different,  and  far  more  important,  were  Tchai- 
kovsky's relations  with  P.  I.  Jurgenson,  the  first — and 
always  the  chief — publisher  of  his  works. 

Peter  Ivanovich  Jurgenson  was  born  at  Reval  in  1836, 
and  his  childhood  was  spent  in  very  poor  and  depressing 
circumstances.  At  nineteen  he  entered  a  music  ware- 
house in  Petersburg,  where  he  soon  won  his  employer's 
confidence,  and  rose  to  be  manager  to  the  firm  of  Schild- 
bach,  in  Moscow.  Two  years  later,  in  1861,  he  made  a 
daring  venture  and  set  up  business  on  his  own  account. 
In  Nicholas  Rubinstein  he  found  a  powerful  friend  and 
ally,  who  supported  his  enterprise  for  twenty  years  with 
unfailing  energy.  By  1866  Jurgenson  had  passed  through 
his  worst  experiences,  and  began  to  play  a  prominent  part 
in  the  musical  life  of  Moscow.  Courageous  and  enter- 
prising, he  was  one  of  the  most  active  adherents  of 
Nicholas  Rubinstein,  that  "  Peter  the  Great "  of  musical 
Moscow,  to  whom  he  rendered  valuable  assistance  in 
founding  the  Conservatoire.  Jurgenson  was  the  first 
Russian  publisher  to  bring  out  the  works  of  the  classical 
school  in  cheap  editions,  and  also  the  compositions  of 
young  native  composers,  including  those  of  Tchaikovsky. 

Although  he  came  from  the  Baltic  provinces,  Jurgen- 
son was  an  ardent  Russian  patriot,  and  soon  won  the 


68  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

affection  of  Peter  Ilich,  who  was  always  a  welcome  guest 
in  his  house. 

At  the  present  moment  the  firm  of  Jurgenson  is  almost 
the  sole  possessor  of  Tchaikovsky's  compositions.  Among 
the  200,000  engraving-plates  which  are  preserved  in  their 
fireproof  safes  more  than  70,000  belong  to  the  works  of 
this  composer. 

The  fourth  of  Tchaikovsky's  intimate  friends,  Nicholas 
Kashkin,  received  him  on  his  arrival  with  the  cordiality  of 
an  old  comrade,  for  he  already  knew  him  from  Laroche's 
enthusiastic  description. 

"...  Nicholas  Dmitrievich  Kashkin  was  the  son  of  a 
well-known  and  respected  bookseller  in  the  town  of 
Voronejh,"  says  Laroche  in  his  reminiscences.  From 
childhood  he  displayed  great  aptitude  for  the  piano,  and 
by  dint  of  self-teaching,  made  such  progress  that  he  could 
execute  difficult  music,  and  was  highly  thought  of  in  his 
native  place.  Yet  he  was  conscious  that  he  lacked  proper 
training,  and  at  twenty-two  went  to  study  with  Dubuque, 
in  Moscow. 

Although  Kashkin  had  no  influence  on  Tchaikovsky's 
development,  their  relations  were  very  friendly.  When 
the  latter  came  to  Moscow,  Kashkin  was  already  married 
and  a  professor  at  the  Conservatoire.  He  and  his  young 
wife  took  a  great  liking  to  the  lonely  composer,  and  the 
intimacy  ripened  very  quickly.  All  the  teachers  at  the 
Conservatoire,  including  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  valued 
Kashkin's  advice.  All  his  friends  regarded  him  as  a 
critic  par  excellence.  Many  years  later  he  gave  up  teach- 
ing at  the  Conservatoire,  and  became  a  professional  critic. 
But  even  in  this  difficult  calling,  which  so  often  leads  to 
misunderstanding  and  bitter  enmities,  he  managed  to  keep 
all  his  old  friends,  and  even  to  make  new  ones. 

If  I  add  to  the  names  of  N.  Rubinstein,  Albrecht, 
Jurgenson,  and  Kashkin,  two  fellow-students  already 
mentioned  —  Laroche  and  Hubert  —  the  list  of  Tchai- 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  69 

kovsky's  intimate  friends  is  complete.  This  little  circle 
was  destined  to  give  unfailing  support  to  the  growing 
reputation  of  the  composer,  and  to  remain  in  the  closest 
personal  relations  with  him  to  the  end  of  his  life.  Amid 
these  friends  he  found  encouragement  and  sympathy  at 
the  time  when  he  stood  most  in  need  of  them. 


II 

Tchaikovsky  left  St.  Petersburg  early  in  January,  1866. 

At  this  time  his  letters  show  his  depth  of  tenderness 
for  his  own  people,  his  first  feelings  of  loneliness  in  the 
strange  city,  his  indifference  to  his  surroundings,  and 
finally  his  gradual  attachment  to  Moscow,  which  ended  in 
being  "  the  dearest  town  in  the  world." 

To  Anatol  and  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  3-3° P'm">  January  6th  (i8//fc). 

"  MY  DEAR  BROTHERS,— My  journey,  although  sad,  is 
safely  over.  I  thought  about  you  the  whole  way,  and  it 
grieved  me  to  think  that  lately  I  had  overshadowed  you 
with  my  own  depression,  although  I  fought  hard  against 
it.  Do  not,  however,  doubt  my  affection,  even  if  I  do  not 
always  show  it  outwardly.  I  am  staying  at  the  Hotel 
Kokorev.  I  have  already  seen  Rubinstein  and  been  intro- 
duced to  two  directors  of  the  Musical  Society.  Rubinstein 
was  so  pressing  in  his  invitation  to  me  to  live  with  him 
that  I  could  not  refuse,  and  shall  go  there  to-morrow.  .  .  . 
I  hug  you  both.  Do  not  cease  to  love  me.  Give  my 
remembrances  to  everyone.  Write !  I  will  write  again 
soon.  I  have  just  written  to  Dad.  You  must  also  do  so." 

To  the  same. 

"  Moscow,  Jan uary  loth  (22nd). 

"DEAR  BROTHERS,-— I  am  now  living  with  Nicholas 
Rubinstein.  He  is  a  very  kind  and  sympathetic  man. 


70  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

He  has  none  of  his  brother's  unapproachable  manner,  but 
in  other  respects  he  is  not  to  be  compared  with  Anton — as 
an  artist.  I  have  a  little  room  next  to  his  bedroom,  and, 
truth  to  tell,  I  am  afraid  the  scratching  of  my  pen  must 
disturb  him  after  he  goes  to  bed,  for  our  rooms  are  only 
divided  by  a  thin  partition.  I  am  very  busy  (upon  the 
orchestration  of  the  C  minor  overture  composed  during 
the  summer).  I  sit  at  home  nearly  all  day,  and  Rubinstein, 
who  leads  rather  an  excitable  life,  cannot  sufficiently  marvel 
at  my  industry.  I  have  been  to  both  theatres.  The 
opera  was  very  bad,  so  for  once  I  did  not  get  as  much 
artistic  enjoyment  from  it  as  from  the  play.  ...  I  have 
hardly  made  any  new  acquaintances  except  Kashkin,  a 
friend  of  Laroche's  and  a  first-rate  musician,  whom  I  have 
got  to  know  very  well  indeed. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  rather  melancholy,  but  as  a  rule  I  am 
possessed  by  an  insatiable  craving  for  work,  which  is  my 
greatest  consolation.  ...  I  have  promised  Rubinstein 
my  overture  shall  be  performed  here  before  I  send  it 
to  Petersburg.  Yesterday  at  bedtime  I  thought  a  great 
deal  about  you  both.  I  pictured  to  myself  all  the  horrors 
of  the  first  night  after  the  holidays,  and  fancied  how  Modi 
would  hide  his  nose  under  the  bed-clothes  and  cry  bitterly. 
How  I  wish  I  could  have  comforted  him !  It  is  not  a 
meaningless  phrase,  Modi,  when  I  tell  you  to  grind  and 
grind  and  grind,  and  to  make  friends  with  your  respectable 
companions,  but  not  with  that  crazy  fellow  X.  ...  I  am 
afraid  you  will  be  left  behind  in  your  class  and  be  one 
of  those  who  get  into  the  master's  black  books.  I  have  no 
fears  for  Toly,  so  I  send  him  no  advice.  Toly,  my  dear, 
conquer  your  indolence  as  a  correspondent  and  write  to 
me.  Hearty  kisses  !  " 

The  overture  in  C  minor,  referred  to  in  this  letter,  was 
submitted  to  Nicholas  Rubinstein  a  few  days  later.  His 
opinion,  however,  was  unfavourable,  and  he  declared  the 
work  unsuitable  for  performance  by  the  Musical  Society. 
Tchaikovsky  then  sent  the  work  to  Petersburg,  in  order  that 
Laroche  might  ask  Anton  Rubinstein  to  perform  it  there. 
"  I  have  left  your  overture  with  Rubinstein,"  Laroche  wrote 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  71 

in  reply,  "  and  repeated  your  request  verbatim.  He  replied 
by  a  low,  ironical  bow.  But  this  is  just  his  way."  The 
overture  was  not  approved  by  Anton  Rubinstein,  nor  did  it 
meet  with  a  happier  fate  when  Laroche  tried  to  persuade 
Liadov  to  give  it  a  place  at  one  of  the  opera  concerts. 
Long  afterwards  Tchaikovsky  himself  shared  this  adverse 
opinion  of  the  work,  and  wrote  upon  the  cover  of  the 
manuscript,  "  Awful  rubbish/' 

To  his  sister >  Alexandra  Davidov. 

"January  \$th  (27^). 

"...  I  have  nothing  particular  to  tell  you  about  my  life 
and  work.  I  am  to  teach  the  theory  of  music,  and  yester- 
day I  held  the  preliminary  examination.  Many  pretty 
girls  presented  themselves.  ...  I  like  Moscow  very  well, 
but  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  get  accustomed  to  it ;  I  have 
been  too  long  rooted  in  Petersburg." 

To  A.  and  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"January  i$th  (27^). 

"  MY  DEAR  BROTHERS, — Do  not  waste  your  money  on 
stamps.  It  would  be  better  to  write  only  once  a  week,  a 
long  letter  in  the  form  of  a  diary.  .  .  . 

"  I  get  on  very  well  with  everyone,  especially  with 
Rubinstein,  Kashkin,  Albrecht,  and  Osberg.1  I  have  also 
made  friends  with  a  family  of  the  name  Tchaikovsky.2  I 
have  eaten  a  great  deal  at  their  house,  but  I  did  not  take 
part  in  the  dancing,  although  I  was  attired  in  Rubinstein's 
dress-coat  The  latter  looks  after  me  like  a  nurse,  and 
insists  upon  doing  so.  To-day  he  forced  me  to  accept  half 
a  dozen  new  shirts  (you  need  not  mention  this  to  the 
Davidovs  or  anyone  else),  and  to-morrow  he  will  carry  me 
off  to  his  tailor  to  order  me  a  frock-coat.  He  is  a  wonder- 
fully kind  man,  but  I  cannot  understand  how  he  has  won 

1  Professor  of  singing  at  the  Conservatoire. 

2  All  traces  of  this  family  appear  to  be  lost,  but  it  is  evident  the}'  were  not 
relatives  of  the  composer. 


72  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

his  great  reputation  as  a  musician.     He  is  rather  ordinary 
in  this  respect,  not  to  be  compared  to  his  brother.1 

"  In  mentioning  my  friends  here,  I  must  not  omit 
Rubinstein's  servant  Alexander.  He  is  a  worthy  old  man, 
and  possesses  a  splendid  white  cat  which  is  now  sitting  on 
my  lap,  while  I  stroke  it  gently.  My  pleasantest  pastime 
is  to  think  of  the  summer.  Lately  I  have  felt  drawn  to 
Sasha,  Leo,  and  their  children,  and  have  now  decided  to 
spend  the  summer  with  you  at  their  house." 


To  A.  and  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Sunday )  January  30^  (February  nth). 

".  .  .  I  laugh  heartily  over  Dickens's  Pickwick  Papers, 
with  no  one  to  share  my  mirth ;  but  sometimes  this  thought 
incites  me  to  even  wilder  hilarity.  I  recommend  you  to 
read  this  book  ;  when  one  wants  to  read  fiction  it  is  best  to 
begin  with  such  an  author  as  Dickens.  He  has  much  in 
common  with  Gogol ;  the  same  inimitable  and  innate 
humour  and  the  same  masterly  power  of  depicting  an 
entire  character  in  a  few  strokes.  But  he  has  not  Gogol's 
depth.  .  .  . 

"  The  idea  of  an  opera  begins  to  occupy  my  attention. 
All  the  libretti  Rubinstein  has  given  me  are  utterly 
bad.  I  have  found  a  subject,  and  intend  to  write  words 
myself.  It  will  simply  be  the  adaptation  of  a  tragedy. 
The  poet  Plestcheiev  is  living  here,  and  has  promised  to 
help  me." 

To  his  sister,  Alexandra  Davidov. 

"February  ^th  (igth). 

"  I  am  gradually  becoming  accustomed  to  Moscow, 
although  sometimes  I  feel  very  lonely.  My  classes  are 
very  successful,  to  my  great  astonishment ;  my  nervous- 
ness is  vanishing  completely,  and  I  am  gradually  assuming 
the  airs  of  a  professor.  My  home-sickness  is  also  wearing 
off,  but  still  Moscow  is  a  strange  place,  and  it  will  be  long 
before  I  can  contemplate  without  horror  the  thought  of 
remaining  here  for  years — perhaps  for  ever.  .  .  ." 

1  Later  on  Tchaikovsky  completely  altered  his  opinion. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  73 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

(The  middle  of  February^ 

"MY  DEAR  FRIEND  MODI, — I  have  been  very  busy 
lately,  and  therefore  have  not  written  for  a  long  while. 
Rubinstein  has  entrusted  me  with  some  important  work 
which  has  to  be  finished  by  the  third  week  in  Lent.  .  .  . 

"  Life  glides  on  quietly  and  monotonously,  so  that  I 
have  hardly  anything  to  tell  you.  I  often  visit  the  Tar- 
novskys,  whose  niece  is  the  loveliest  girl  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  I  am  very  much  taken  with  her,  which  causes  Rubin- 
stein to  be  a  perfect  nuisance.  The  moment  we  arrive  at 
the  house  the  others  begin  to  tease  us  and  leave  us 
together.  At  home  she  is  called  *  Mufka,'  and  just  now  I 
am  wondering  whether  I  dare  use  this  name  for  her  too. 
I  only  need  to 'know  her  a  little  better.  Rubinstein  has 
also  been  in  love  with  her,  but  his  sentiments  have  now 
grown  cooler. 

"  My  nerves  are  in  good  condition  ;  I  am  very  calm  and 
even  cheerful.  I  often  console  myself  with  thoughts  of 
Easter,  spring,  and  the  summer  holidays." 

The  work  to  which  Tchaikovsky  refers  at  the  beginning 
of  this  letter  was  the  instrumentation  of  his  overture  in 
F  major,  which  had  been  originally  scored  for  the  small 
orchestra  of  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire.  In  later  years 
the  composer  must  have  destroyed  the  fuller  arrangement 
of  the  work,  although  at  this  time  he  seems  to  have  been 
satisfied  with  the  result. 

To  A.  and  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  March  6th  (i%th). 

"...  My  overture  was  performed  on  Friday,  and  had  a 
good  success.  I  was  unanimously  recalled,  and — to  be 
grandiloquent — received  with  applause  that  made  the  wel- 
kin ring.  More  flattering  still  was  the  ovation  I  met  with 
at  the  supper  which  Rubinstein  gave  after  the  concert  .  .  . 
After  supper  he  proposed  my  health  amid  renewed  ap- 
plause. I  go  into  these  details  because  it  is  my  first  public 
success,  and  consequently  very  gratifying." 


74  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

At  the  end  of  March  Tchaikovsky,  eager  as  a  schoolboy 
at  the  beginning  of  his  holidays,  left  Moscow  for  Peters- 
burg, where  he  stayed  until  April  4th  (i6th). 

To  A.  and  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Moscow,  April  ^th  (19^). 

"  Brothers !  Forgive  me  for  not  having  written  before. 
The  journey  was  safely  accomplished.  The  news  of  the 
attempt  upon  the  Emperor's  life  reached  us  at  the  station 
where  we  stopped  for  tea,  but  only  in  a  very  vague  form.1 
We  pictured  to  ourselves  that  he  was  actually  dead,  and 
one  lady  wept  bitterly,  while  another  began  to  extol  all  the 
virtues  of  the  new  sovereign.  Only  at  Moscow  I  learnt 
the  true  account.  The  rejoicings  here  were  beyond  belief ; 
yesterday  at  the  Opera,  where  I  went  to  hear  A  Life  for 
the  Tsar,  when  the  Poles  appeared  on  the  stage  the  entire 
public  began  to  shout,  '  Down  with  the  Poles  ! '  In  the  last 
scene  of  the  fourth  act,  in  which  the  Poles  put  Sousanin  to 
death,  the  singer  who  was  taking  this  part  resisted  with 
such  realistic  violence  that  he  knocked  down  several  of  the 
'  Polish '  chorus-singers.  When  the  rest  of  the  '  Poles  '  saw 
that  this  outrage  to  art  and  to  the  truth  delighted  the 
public,  they  promptly  fell  down  of  their  own  accord,  and 
the  triumphant  Sousanin  walked  away,  shaking  his  fists  at 
them,  amid  the  vociferous  applause  of  the  Muscovites.  At 
the  end  of  the  opera  the  Emperor's  portrait  was  brought 
on  the  stage,  and  an  indescribable  tumult  followed." 

To  Alexandra  Davidov. 

"  April  %th  (2oth}. 

"  I  am  going  to  act  as  advocate  for  two  mortals  who  are 
just  crazy  about  Kamenka.  You  write  that  Toly  and 
Modi  might  be  left  in  Petersburg,  but  I  am  determined  not 
to  tell  them  your  point  of  view.  They  would  utterly  lose 
heart — especially  Toly.  One  of  my  chief  reasons  for 
caring  to  spend  the  summer  at  Kamenka  is  to  be  with 
them,  and  your  house  is  the  only  place  where  we  can 
be  together  for  a  time.  If  you  only  knew  how  these  little 

1  Karakovich's  attempt  upon  Alexander  II. ,  April  4th  (i6th),  1866. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  75 

fellows  cling  to  me  (and  I  return  their  love  a  hundredfold), 
you  would  not  find  it  in  your  heart  to  separate  us.  Arrange, 
my  dear,  for  this  visit  to  come  off.  Very  likely  I  shall  be 
able  to  take  part  of  the  expense  off  your  hands." 

Before  the  summer  holidays  came,  Tchaikovsky's  health 
was  in  an  unsatisfactory  condition.  He  complains  in  his 
letters  of  insomnia,  nervousness,  and  the  throbbing  sensa- 
tions in  his  head,  to  which  he  often  refers  as  "  my 
apoplectic  symptoms."  At  the  end  of  April  his  depres- 
sion became  very  apparent,  and  he  wrote  to  his  brother 
Anatol : — 

"  My  nerves  are  altogether  shaken.  The  causes  are : 
(i)  the  symphony,  which  does  not  sound  satisfactory;  (2) 
Rubinstein  and  Tarnovsky  have  discovered  that  I  am 
easily  startled,  and  amuse  themselves  by  giving  me  all 
manner  of  shocks  all  day  long ;  (3)  I  cannot  shake  off  the 
conviction  that  I  shall  not  live  long,  and  shall  leave  my 
symphony  unfinished.  I  long  for  the  summer  and  for 
Kamenka  as  for  the  Promised  Land,  and  hope  to  find  rest 
and  peace,  and  to  forget  all  my  troubles  there.  Yesterday 
I  determined  to  touch  no  more  wine,  spirits,  or  strong  tea. 

"  I  hate  mankind  in  the  mass,  and  I  should  be  delighted 
to  retire  into  some  wilderness  with  very  few  inhabitants. 
I  have  already  secured  my  ticket  in  the  diligence  for 
May  10th  (22nd)." 

The  visit  to  Kamenka,  to  which  he  had  looked  forward 
through  the  winter  and  spring,  did  not  actually  come  to 
pass.  In  consequence  of  the  state  of  the  high-roads,  the 
diligence  was  unable  to  run  beyond  Dovsk  ;  the  remainder 
of  the  journey  had  to  be  undertaken,  at  the  traveller's  own 
risk  and  expense,  in  a  private  post-chaise.  Tchaikovsky's 
funds  did  not  permit  of  this  extra  strain,  and  the  visit  to 
his  sister  was  abandoned.  With  the  assistance  of  his 
father,  Anatol  was  sent  to  Kamenka,  while  Peter  Ilich, 
with  Modeste,  went  for  a  time  to  his  sister's  mother-in-law 
at  Miatlev,  near  Petersburg. 


76  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

In  spite  of  the  beauty  of  scenery  and  his  pleasure  in 
being  with  his  excellent  friends,  Elizabeth  and  Vera 
Davidov,  in  spite  of  being  near  his  father  and  the 
poetical  impression  derived  from  a  trip  to  Lake  Ladoga, 
Tchaikovsky  did  not  altogether  enjoy  his  holiday  at 
Miatlev.  The  cause  of  this  was  his  G  minor  symphony, 
afterwards  known  as  Winter  Day  Dreams.  Not  one  of 
his  compositions  gave  him  so  much  trouble  as  this 
symphony. 

He  began  this  work  in  Moscow  during  the  spring,  and 
it  was  the  cause  of  his  nervous  disorders  and  numerous 
sleepless  nights.  These  difficulties  were  partly  caused  by 
his  want  of  experience  in  composition,  and  partly  by  his 
habit  of  working  by  night  as  well  as  by  day.  At  the  end 
of  June  he  had  a  terrible  nervous  breakdown,  and  the 
doctor  who  was  called  in  to  see  him  declared  he  had 
narrowly  escaped  madness,  and  that  his  condition  was 
very  serious.  The  most  alarming  symptoms  of  the  illness 
were  his  hallucinations  and  a  constant  feeling  of  dread. 
That  he  suffered  intensely  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  he 
never  again  attempted  to  work  through  the  night. 

In  consequence  of  his  illness,  Tchaikovsky  was  unable 
to  finish  the  symphony  during  the  summer.  Nevertheless, 
before  his  return  to  Moscow  he  resolved  to  submit  it  to 
his  former  masters,  Anton  Rubinstein  and  Zaremba,  hoping 
they  might  offer  to  let  it  be  heard  at  the  Musical  Society. 

Once  more  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment.  His 
symphony  was  severely  criticised,  rejected,  and  pronounced 
unworthy  of  performance.  It  was  the  first  completely 
independent  work  which  he  had  composed  after  leaving 
the  Petersburg  Conservatoire.  The  only  other  work  upon 
which  he  was  engaged  at  this  time  was  the  orchestration 
of  his  F  major  and  C  minor  overtures,  which  still  remain 
unpublished. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  77 

III 

1866-1867 

At  the  end  of  August  Tchaikovsky  returned  to  Moscow 
without  any  trace  of  the  hostile  feeling  with  which  he  had 
gone  there  in  the  previous  January.  In  this  change  of 
attitude  his  artistic  sensibility  unquestionably  played  a 
part.  After  the  severe  judgment  of  the  authorities  in 
Petersburg  upon  his  symphony,  he  could  not  fail  to  con- 
trast this  reception  unfavourably  with  the  acknowledgments 
of  the  Moscow  musical  world.  He  had  learnt,  too,  the 
value  of  his  colleagues,  N.  Rubinstein,  Albrecht  and  Kash- 
kin,  and  looked  forward  to  meeting  them  again.  Finally, 
he  had  the  pleasant  prospect  of  an  increased  salary,  com- 
mencing from  September.  He  must  have  rejoiced  to  feel 
his  extreme  poverty  had  touched  its  limits,  and  an  income 
of  over  £120  a  year  seemed  almost  wealth  to  him.  "I  have 
money  enough  and  to  spare,"  he  wrote  to  his  brothers  in 
November. 

The  ties  which  bound  him  to  Petersburg  were  slackening. 
His  attachment  to  his  father  remained  unchanged,  but  he 
was  growing  accustomed  to  his  separation ;  moreover,  the 
twins  stood  less  in  need  of  his  tender  solicitude,  since  they 
were  once  more  living  at  home  with  their  father. 

And  yet  he  still  hankered  after  the  recognition  of  St. 
Petersburg ;  Moscow  was  still  "  a  strange  city  ";  a  provin- 
cial town,  the  appreciation  of  which  was  hardly  worth  the 
conquest. 

In  1866  the  Conservatoire  outgrew  its  quarters  in  Rubin- 
stein's house,  and  it  became  necessary  to  locate  it  in  a 
larger  building.  Rubinstein  now  moved  into  quarters 
nearer  the  new  Conservatoire,  and  Tchaikovsky  continued 
to  live  with  him. 


,-S  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 

The  opening  of  the  buildings  took  place  on  September 
1st  (i3th),  and  was  attended  by  most  of  the  leaders  of 
Moscow  society.  The  consecration  service  was  followed 
by  a  banquet  at  which  many  toasts  were  given,  and 
even  Tchaikovsky  himself  drank  to  the  health  of  Rubin- 
stein,  after  making  a  cordial  and  eloquent  speech  in  his 
honour.  Kashkin,  the  only  witness  of  the  event  now 
living,  writes: — 

*  The  banquet  was  followed  by  music,  and  Tchaikovsky, 
who  was  determined  that  the  first  music  to  be  heard  in  the 
hall  of  the  Conservatoire  should  be  Glinka's,  opened  the 
impromptu  concert  by  playing  the  overture  to  Russia*  and 
LtomdmtUa  from  memory." 

The  influx  of  new  colleagues  which  followed  the  enlarge- 
ment of  the  Conservatoire  made  very  little  difference  to 
Tchaikovsky's  intimate  circle.  He  admired  Laub's  incom- 
parable playing  without  entering  into  closer  relations  with 
him.  He  had  more  in  common  with  Kossmann,  an  excellent 
musician  and  a  man  of  culture.  His  acquaintance  with  the 
violinist  Wieniawsky  was  of  short  duration,  since  at  the  end 
of  six  months  the  latter  resigned  his  post  as  teacher,  and 
they  never  met  again.  He  often  spent  the  evening  with 
Dubuque,  a  most  hospitable  man,  and  a  famous  pianist,  who 
was  considered  the  finest  interpreter  of  Field's  Nocturnes 
and  other  works  which  were  accounted  modern  in  those 
days.  To  these  acquaintances  we  may  add  Anton  Door, 
the  well-known  pianist,  now  residing  in  Vienna. 

Among  such  of  Tchaikovsky's  friends  as  did  not  belong 
to  die  musical  profession,  the  generous  art  patron  Prince 
Vladimir  Odoevsky  takes  the  first  place.  Peter  Ilich  was 
grateful  for  the  interest  which  this  enlightened  man  took 
in  him  and  his  work.  In  1878  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters : — 

*  He  was  the  personification  of  kindness,  and  combined 
the  most  all-embracing  knowledge,  including  the  art  of 
music.  .  .  .  Four  days  before  his  death  he  came  to  the 


TCHAIKOVSKY    (IN    WINTER    DRESS),    1867 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  79 

concert  to  hear  my  orchestral  fantasia,  Fatum.  How 
jovial  he  was  when  during  the  interval  he  came  to  give  me 
his  opinion !  The  cymbals  which  he  unearthed  and  pre- 
sented to  me  are  still  kept  at  the  Conservatoire.  He  did 
not  like  the  instruments  himself,  but  thought  I  had  a  talent 
for  introducing  them  at  the  right  moment.  So  the  charm- 
ing old  fellow  searched  all  Moscow  until  he  discovered  a 
pair  of  good  '  piatti/  and  sent  them  to  me  with  a  precious 
letter." 

In  the  literary  and  dramatic  world  Tchaikovsky  had 
two  good  friends — the  dramatist  Ostrovsky  and  Sadovsky. 
He  won  the  sympathy  of  these  distinguished  men  entirely 
by  his  own  personality,  since  neither  of  them  cared  greatly 
for  music. 

During  the  season  1866-7  tne  composer  made  another 
friendship  which  was  of  great  importance  to  his  future 
career.  Vladimir  Petrovich  Begichev,  Intendant  of  the 
Imperial  Opera,  Moscow,  enjoyed  a  considerable  reputa- 
tion— first  as  an  elderly  Adonis,  secondly  as  the  hero  of 
many  romantic  episodes  in  the  past,  and  thirdly  as  the 
husband  of  his  wife,  a  lady  once  renowned  for  her  singing 
and  for  her  somewhat  sensational  past.  By  her  first  hus- 
band Madame  Begichev  had  two  sons — Constantine  and 
Vladimir  Shilovsky.  These  young  men  were  strongly 
attracted  to  art  and  literature,  and  played  a  considerable 
part  in  Tchaikovsky's  subsequent  career. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  in  Moscow  Tchaikovsky  began  to 
compose  an  overture  on  the  Danish  National  Hymn, 
which  N.  Rubinstein  had  requested  him  to  have  ready  for 
the  approaching  marriage  of  the  Tsarevitch  with  the 
Princess  Dagmar,  to  be  played  in  the  presence  of  the 
royal  pair  during  their  visit  to  Moscow. 

As  with  all  his  commissioned  works,  Tchaikovsky  had 
completed  this  overture  before  the  appointed  day,  although 
he  had  to  compose  under  the  most  unfavourable  condi- 
tions. Rubinstein's  house  was  beset  all  day  long  by 


8o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

professors  from  the  Conservatoire  and  other  visitors,  who 
did  not  hesitate  to  intrude  into  Tchaikovsky's  room,  so 
that  he  found  no  peace  at  home,  and  had  to  take  refuge 
in  a  neighbouring  inn,  "The  Great  Britain,"  which  was 
very  little  frequented  during  the  daytime.  When  finished, 
he  dedicated  the  overture  to  the  Tsarevitch,  and  received 
in  return  a  pair  of  jewelled  sleeve-links,  which  he  im- 
mediately sold  to  Dubuque.  Tchaikovsky,  who  generally 
judged  his  early  works  very  severely,  kept  a  favourable 
recollection  of  this  overture,  and  wrote  to  Jurgenson,  in 
1892: — 

"  My  Danish  Overture  may  become  a  popular  concert 
work,  for,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  it  is  effective  and, 
from  a  musical  standpoint,  far  superior  to  '  1812.'" 

After  making  some  alterations  in  his  symphony — under- 
taken at  the  desire  of  Anton  Rubinstein  and  Zaremba — 
Tchaikovsky,  setting  aside  N.  Rubinstein,  desired  to 
hear  the  judgments  of  his  old  teachers,  so  greatly  was  he 
still  under  the  influence  of  Petersburg  opinion.  He  only 
permitted  the  least  important  movement  to  be  heard  at 
a  Moscow  Symphony  Concert  in  December — the  scherzo, 
which  had  very  little  success.  In  Petersburg  the  work 
was  once  more  refused,  but  afterwards  the  two  middle 
movements  (adagio  and  scherzo)  were  performed  in 
February,  1867.  The  reception  was  not  encouraging,  only 
one  anonymous  critic  speaking  warmly  in  praise  of  the 
music. 

In  Tchaikovsky's  nature,  side  by  side  with  his  gentle 
and  benevolent  attitude  towards  his  fellow-men,  there 
existed  an  extraordinary  memory  for  any  injury ;  not 
in  the  ordinary  sense  of  a  desire  for  revenge,  but  in  the 
more  literal  meaning  of  unforgetfulness.  He  hardly  ever 
forgot  a  slight  to  his  artistic  pride.  If  it  was  offered  by 
one  whom  he  had  hitherto  loved,  he  grew  suddenly  cold  to 
him — and  for  ever.  Not  only  for  months  or  years,  but  for 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  81 

decades,  he  would  bear  such  a  wound  unhealed  in  his 
heart,  and  it  took  a  great  deal  to  make  him  forget  an 
inconsiderate  word,  or  an  unfriendly  action.  .It  was  no 
doubt  the  result  of  having  been  spoilt  as  a  child.  From 
his  earliest  infancy  he  had  been  kept  from  all  unpleasant- 
ness, or  even  indifference,  so  that  what  would  have  ap- 
peared a  pin-prick  to  many  seemed  to  him  a  mortal  blow. 

Not  only  the  episode  of  the  symphony — which  after- 
wards won  a  fair  measure  of  success  in  St.  Petersburg — 
but  many  other  events  contributed  to  estrange  Tchai- 
kovsky from  the  city  of  his  first  affections.  Gradually  the 
circle  of  his  friends  there  decreased,  and  the  most  inti- 
mate of  them  all,  Laroche,  was  appointed  Professor  at  the 
Moscow  Conservatoire  in  December,  1867.  Besides  which 
that  little  school  of  gifted  "young  Russians,"  under  the 
leadership  of  Balakirev,  and  the  protection  of  Dar- 
gomijsky,  which  included  Moussorgsky,  Cui,  Borodin 
and  Rimsky-Korsakov,-were  gaining  more  and  more  ac- 
knowledgment and  weight  in  Petersburg.  This  circle, 
supported  by  the  pens  of  Cui  and  Stassov,  who  held 
extremely  modern  views  and  were  opposed  to  the  Con- 
servatoire and  Anton  Rubinstein,  made  a  very  unsympa- 
thetic impression  upon  Tchaikovsky. 

The  hostility  with  which  he  regarded  this  group  of 
composers  had  its  origin  in  his  distrustful  attitude  towards 
society  generally.  He  met  all  strangers  with  dislike,  but 
at  the  first  friendly  advance,  or  kind  word,  he  forgave  them, 
and  even  thought  them  sympathetic. 

So  it  was  with  his  intercourse  with  the  members  of  the 
New  School  in  St.  Petersburg.  Until  1868  none  of  them 
were  known  to  him  personally,  but  all  the  same  he  was 
hostile  to  them.  This  was  sufficient  to  awaken  in  him  the 
notion  that  they  were  all  disposed  to  be  his  enemies,  and 
when  in  1867  Anton  Rubinstein  resigned  the  conductorship 
of  the  Symphony  Concerts,  and  it  passed  into  the  hands 
of  this  school,  he  decided  that  Petersburg  was  now  a  hostile 


82  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

camp,  whereas  in  reality  they  were  simply  neutral,  or  in- 
different, to  him. 

Meanwhile,  by  closer  acquaintance  with  Nicholas  Rubin- 
stein, Tchaikovsky  had  begun  to  recognise  his  worth  as  an 
executant,  a  conductor,  and  an  indefatigable  worker ; 
while  the  presence  of  such  musicians  as  Laub  and  Koss- 
mann,  and  such  intimate  friends  as  Kashkin,  Albrecht  and 
Laroche,  reconciled  him  to  Moscow  as  a  musical  centre 
where  it  was  worth  while  to  be  appreciated. 

The  earliest  of  Tchaikovsky's  letters  in  1867  is  dated 
May  2nd  (i4th) ;  therefore  it  is  difficult  to  fix  the  precise 
date  at  which  he  began  to  compose  his  opera,  The 
Voyevode.  In  any  case  he  received  the  first  part  of  the 
libretto  from  Ostrovsky  in  March  or  April.  I  remember 
that  in  the  summer  the  first  act  was  not  even  finished.  At 
the  very  outset  he  was  delayed  in  his  work  because  he 
lost  the  manuscript,  and  Ostrovsky  had  to  rewrite  it  from 
memory. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  May  2nd  (14^),  1867. 

"  All  last  week  I  was  out  of  humour ;  first,  because 
of  the  bad  weather ;  secondly,  from  shortness  of  money ; 
and  thirdly,  from  despair  of  ever  again  finding  the  libretto. 
.  .  .  Recently  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Professor 
Bougaiev  at  his  house.  He  is  an  extraordinarily  learned 
man.  He  talked  until  late  into  the  night  about  astronomy 
and  its  latest  discoveries.  Good  God !  How  ignorant  we 
are  when  we  leave  school !  I  shudder  when  I  chance  to 
come  across  a  really  well-read  and  enlightened  man !  .  .  . " 

In  the  summer  of  1867  Tchaikovsky  decided  to  visit 
Finland  with  one  of  the  twins,  his  funds  not  being  sufficient 
to  allow  of  his  taking  both  of  them.  With  his  usual 
nawete  as  regards  money  matters,  he  set  off  with  Anatol, 
taking  about  £10  in  his  pocket,  which  he  believed  would 
suffice  for  the  trip.  At  the  end  of  a  few  days  in  Viborg, 
finding  themselves  nearly  penniless,  they  took  the  first 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  83 

boat  back  to  Petersburg.  There  a  great  disappointment 
awaited  them.  Their  father,  from  whom  they  hoped  to 
obtain  some  assistance,  had  already  left  for  a  summer 
holiday  in  the  Ural  Mountains.  The  brothers  then  spent 
their  last  remaining  shillings  in  reaching  Hapsal  by 
steamer,  where  they  were  certain  of  rinding  their  faithful 
friends  the  Davidovs.  They  travelled  as  "  between  deck  " 
passengers  and  suffered  terribly  from  the  cold.  But 
notwithstanding  these  misadventures,  out  of  which  they 
derived  more  amusement  than  discomfort,  Peter  Ilich 
enjoyed  the  summer  holidays.  His  spirits  were  excellent, 
and  he  worked  hard  at  The  Voyevode,  while  his  leisure 
was  spent  in  the  society  of  his  dear  friends.  The  evenings 
were  devoted  to  reading,  and  they  were  particularly 
interested  in  the  dramatic  works  of  Alfred  de  Musset. 
This  kind  of  life  entirely  satisfied  Tchaikovsky's  simple 
and  steadfast  nature,  and  his  happy  frame  of  mind  is 
reflected  in  the  Chant  sans  paroles,  which  he  composed 
at  this  time  and  dedicated — with  two  additional  pieces  for 
piano — to  Vera  Vassilievna  Davidov,  under  the  title  of 
Souvenir  de  Hapsal. 

On  August   1 5th  (27th),  Tchaikovsky  left  Hapsal  for 
Moscow,  spending  a  week  in  Petersburg  on  his  way. 


IV 

1867-1868 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  observed  " — writes  Tchaikovsky 
to  his  sister — "  that  I  long  intensely  for  a  quiet,  peaceful  life, 
such  as  one  lives  in  the  country.  Vera  Davidov  may  have 
told  you  how  we  often  spoke  in  fun  of  our  future  farm, 
where  we  intended  to  end  our  days.  As  regards  myself  it 
is  no  joke.  I  am  really  attracted  to  this  idea  because, 
although  I  am  far  from  being  old,  I  am  already  very  tired 


84  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  life.  Do  not  laugh ;  if  you  always  lived  with  me  you 
would  see  it  for  yourself.  The  people  around  me  often 
wonder  at  my  taciturnity  and  my  apparent  ill-temper,  while 
actually  I  do  not  lead  an  unhappy  existence.  What  more 
can  a  man  want  whose  prospects  are  good,  who  is  liked, 
and  whose  artistic  work  meets  with  appreciation?  And 
yet,  in  spite  of  these  favourable  circumstances,  I  shrink 
from  every  social  engagement,  do  not  care  to  make  acquaint- 
ances, love  solitude  and  silence.  All  this  is  explained  by 
my  weariness  of  life.  In  those  moments  when  I  am  not 
merely  too  lazy  to  talk,  but  too  indolent  even  to  think, 
I  dream  of  a  calm,  heavenly,  serene  existence,  and  only 
realise  this  life  in  your  immediate  neighbourhood.  Be  sure 
of  this :  you  will  have  to  devote  some  of  your  maternal 
devotion  to  your  tired  old  brother.  Perhaps  you  may 
think  such  a  frame  of  mind  naturally  leads  a  man  to  the 
consideration  of  matrimony.  No,  my  dear  future  com- 
panion !  My  weariness  has  made  me  too  indolent  to  form 
new  ties,  too  indolent  to  found  a  family,  too  indolent  to  take 
upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  wife  and  children.  In 
short,  marriage  is  to  me  inconceivable.  How  I  shall  come 
to  be  united  with  your  family  I  know  not  as  yet ;  whether 
I  shall  become  the  owner  of  a  plot  of  ground  in  your 
neighbourhood,  or  simply  your  boarder,  only  the  future 
can  decide.  One  thing  is  clear :  my  future  happiness  is 
impossible  apart  from  you." 

Tchaikovsky  never  gives  the  true  reason  for  his  yearning 
after  solitude  and  a  life  of  "  heavenly  quiet  and  serenity," 
but  it  certainly  did  not  proceed  from  "  misanthropy,"  "  in- 
dolence," or  weariness  of  life. 

He  was  no  misanthropist,  for,  as  everyone  who  knew 
him  must  agree,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  any  man  who 
gave  out  more  sympathy  than  he  did.  Laroche  says: — 

"The  number  of  people  who  made  a  good  impression 
on  him,  who  pleased  him,  and  of  whom  he  spoke  in  their 
absence  as  '  good '  and  '  sympathetic/  sometimes  astounded 
me.  The  power  of  seeing  the  best  side  of  people  and  of 
things  was  a  gift  inherited  from  his  father,  and  it  was  pre- 
cisely this  love  of  his  fellow-creatures  which  made  him  so 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  85 

beloved  in  return.  He  was  no  misanthropist,  rather  a 
philanthropist  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  Neither  is 
there  greater  justice  in  his  self-accusation  of  'indolence.' 
Those  who  have  followed  him  through  his  school-life,  his 
official  career,  and  his  student  days  at  the  Conservatoire, 
will  be  of  my  opinion.  But  a  glance  at  the  number  of  his 
works,  which  reaches  seventy-six,  including  ten  operas  and 
three  ballets  ;  at  his  letters  (I  possess,  in  all,  four  thousand) ; 
at  his  literary  work  (sixty-one  articles)  ;  at  his  translations 
and  arrangements,  and  his  ten  years'  teaching,  will  suffice 
to  convince  the  most  sceptical  that  his  nature  knew  no 
moods  of  dolce  far  niente" 

As  regards  his  "weariness  of  life,"  he  himself  disposes 
of  it  in  the  same  letter,  when  he  speaks  of  yearning  for 
a  calm  and  happy  existence.  Those  who  are  really  world- 
weary  have  no  longing  for  any  kind  of  existence.  Neither 
misanthropy,  indolence,  nor  weariness  were  his  permanent 
moods.  His  indefinite  craving  for  an  easier  life  was  caused 
by  his  creative  impulse,  which,  waxing  ever  stronger  and 
stronger,  awoke  the  desire  for  more  leisure  to  devote  to  it. 
This  longing  for  freedom  reached  a  climax  in  1877,  and 
brought  about  a  complete  change  in  his  life. 

For  the  time  being  it  was  useless  to  think  of  solitude 
or  freedom.  All  he  could  hope  for  was  the  comparative 
liberty  of  his  summer  vacation.  Town  life  was  a  necessity 
to  him  from  the  material  and  moral  point  of  view,  and 
although  he  complained  of  its  being  oppressive,  I  believe 
that  had  he  been  compelled  by  fate  to  reside  in  the  country 
— as  he  did  some  years  later — he  would,  at  this  earlier 
period  of  his  career,  have  had  much  more  cause  for 
complaint. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"August  $ist,  1867  (September  i2th). 

"...  At  present  I  have  nothing  to  do,  and  loaf  about 
the  town  all  day.  .  .  .  Ostrovsky  still  keeps  me  on  the 
trot.  I  read  in  the  Petersburg  papers  that  he  had  com- 


86  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

pleted  my  libretto,  but  it  is  not  so.  I  had  some  difficulty 
in  dragging  the  first  half  of  the  lost  act  out  of  him.  I  am 
wandering  about  with  the  intention  of  buying  a  large 
writing-table  to  make  my  room  more  comfortable,  so  that 
I  can  work  at  my  opera  at  home.  I  am  determined  to 
finish  it  during  the  winter.  Last  night  we  celebrated 
Dubuque's  birthday,  and  I  came  back  rather  the  worse  for 
liquor. 

"  I  have  spent  two  evenings  running  at  the  '  English 
Club.'  What  a  delightful  club !  It  would  be  jolly  to  be- 
long to  it,  but  it  costs  too  much.  .  .  ." 


To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

(About  tke  end  of  October.) 

"  I  am  getting  along  all  right.  On  Saturday  our  first 
concert  takes  place,  to  which  I  look  forward,  for,  generally 
speaking,  the  people  here  prefer  carnal  to  spiritual  enter- 
tainments, and  eat  and  drink  an  incredible  amount.  The 
concert  will  supply  me  with  a  little  musical  food,  of  which 
I  am  badly  in  need,  for  I  live  like  a  bear  in  his  cave,  upon 
my  own  substance,  that  is  to  say,  upon  my  compositions, 
which  are  always  running  in  my  head.  Try  as  I  may,  it  is 
impossible  to  lead  a  quiet  life  in  Moscow,  where  one  must 
over-eat  and  drink.  This  is  the  fifth  day  in  succession 
that  I  have  come  home  late  with  an  overloaded  stomach. 
But  you  must  not  imagine  I  am  idle :  from  breakfast  till 
the  midday  meal  I  work  without  a  break." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  November  2$th  (December  7^). 

"  Our  mutual  friend  Klimenko  is  in  Moscow,  and  visits 
us  almost  daily. 

"The  Opera  is  progressing  fairly  well.  The  whole 
of  the  third  act  is  finished,  and  the  dances  from  it — which 
I  orchestrated  at  Hapsal — will  be  given  at  the  next 
concert." 

Ivan  Alexandrovich  Klimenko,  whose  name  will  often 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  87 

occur  in  the  course  of  this  book,  had  previously  made 
Laroche's  acquaintance  at  one  of  Serov's  "  Tuesday 
evenings."  An  architect  by  profession,  Kashkin  describes 
him  as  a  very  gifted  amateur.  He  was  devotedly  attached 
to  Tchaikovsky,  and  one  of  the  first  to  prophesy  his 
significance  for  Russian  music. 

At  the  second  symphony  concert,  which  took  place 
early  in  December,  "  The  Dances  of  the  Serving  Maids," 
from  The  Voyevode,  were  given.  They  had  an  undeniable 
success,  and  were  twice  repeated  in  Moscow  during  the 
season. 

On  December  I2th  (24th)  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  his 
brother  Anatol  as  follows  : — 

"You  ask  if  I  am  coming  to  Petersburg.  Wisdom 
compels  me  to  say  no.  In  the  first  place  I  have  not 
money  for  the  journey,  and  secondly,  Berlioz  is  coming 
here  at  Christmas,  and  will  give  two  concerts — one  popular, 
and  another  in  the  place  of  our  fourth  symphony  evening. 
I  shall  put  off  my  visit  until  the  Carnival  or  Lent.  .  .  ." 

Berlioz  went  to  Moscow  about  the  end  of  December, 
1867,  direct  from  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  had  been 
invited  by  the  directors  of  the  Musical  Society — chiefly 
at  the  instigation  of  Dargomijsky  and  Balakirev  —  to 
conduct  a  series  of  six  concerts. 

This  was  not  his  first  visit  to  Russia.  As  early  as  1847 
he  had  been  welcomed  in  Petersburg,  Moscow  and  Riga, 
by  the  instrumentality  of  Glinka,  who  regarded  him  as 
"  the  greatest  of  contemporary  musicians."  He  then  met 
with  an  enthusiastic  reception  from  the  leaders  of  the 
Russian  musical  world,  Prince  Odoevsky  and  Count 
Vielgorsky,  and  not  only  made  a  large  sum,  but  was 
equally  feted  by  the  public.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that 
not  only  Berlioz  himself,  but  his  Russian  admirers  seem 
to  have  deluded  themselves  into  the  belief  that  he  was 
"  understood  "  and  "  appreciated  "  in  Russia.  Prince 


88  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Odoevsky,  who  published  an  article  extolling  Berlioz's 
genius  the  very  day  before  his  first  concert  in  Peters- 
burg, exclaims  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Glinka  : — 

"  Where  are  you,  friend  ?  Why  are  you  not  with  us  ? 
Why  are  you  not  sharing  our  joy  and  pleasure?  Berlioz 
has  been  '  understood  '  in  St.  Petersburg  ! !  Here,  in  spite 
of  the  scourge  of  Italian  cavatina,  which  has  well-nigh 
ruined  Slavonic  taste,  we  showed  that  we  could  still  appre- 
ciate the  most  complicated  contrapuntal  music  in  the  world. 
There  must  be  a  secret  sympathy  between  his  music  and 
our  intimate  Russian  sentiment.  How  else  can  this  public 
enthusiasm  be  explained  ?  " 

I  am  of  opinion  that  it  is  more  easily  explicable  by  the 
fact  that  Berlioz  was  a  gifted  conductor,  and  that  the 
public  had  been  prepossessed  in  his  favour  by  the  lauda- 
tory articles  of  Prince  Odoevsky  himself.  Judging  from 
the  neglect  of  this  famous  composer  in  the  present  day 
{Faust  is  the  only  one  of  his  works  which  is  still  popular), 
this  is  surely  the  right  point  of  view. 

Twenty  years  later,  in  1867,  the  enthusiastic  welcome 
he  received  here  was  chiefly  due  to  his  attraction  as  a 
conductor,  and  to  the  enthusiasm  of  that  small  group  of 
Russian  musicians  to  whom  he  owed  his  invitation  to  our 
country. 

Tchaikovsky,  whose  views  were  entirely  opposed  to 
those  of  this  circle,  held  u  his  own  opinions  "  in  this,  as  in 
other  matters.  Although  he  fully  appreciated  the  impor- 
tant place  which  Berlioz  filled  in  modern  music,  and 
recognised  him  as  a  great  reformer  of  the  orchestra,  he 
felt  no  enthusiasm  for  his  music.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
had  the  warmest  admiration  for  the  man,  in  whom  he  saw 
"  the  personification  of  disinterested  industry,  of  ardent 
love  for  art,  of  a  noble  and  energetic  combatant  against 
ignorance,  stupidity,  vulgarity,  and  routine.  .  .  ."  He  also 
regarded  him  as  "  an  old  and  broken  man,  persecuted 
alike  by  fate  and  his  fellow-creatures,"  whom  he  cordially 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  89 

desired  to  console  and  cheer — if  only  for  the  moment — 
by  the  expression  of  an  ungrudging  sympathy. 

On  February  3rd  (iSth)  Tchaikovsky's  G  minor  sym- 
phony was  given  at  the  Musical  Society,  when  its  success 
surpassed  all  expectations.  "  The  adagio  pleased  best," 
Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  his  brothers.  The  composer  was 
vociferously  recalled,  and,  according  to  Countess  Kapnist, 
appeared  upon  the  platform  in  rather  untidy  clothes,  hat 
in  hand,  and  bowed  awkwardly. 

On  February  iQth  (March  2nd)  a  charity  concert  was 
given  in  the  Opera  House  in  aid  of  the  Famine  Fund. 
This  was  an  event  in  Tchaikovsky's  life,  for  he  made  his 
first  public  appearance  as  a  conductor,  the  "  Dances  "  from 
The  Voyevode^  being  played  under  his  baton.  On  this  occa- 
sion, too,  he  first  became  acquainted  with  the  work  of 
Rimsky-Korsakov,  whose  "Serbian  Fantasia"  was  included 
in  the  programme. 

Tchaikovsky's  opinion  of  himself  as  a  conductor  we 
have  learnt  already  from  Laroche.  Kashkin  gives  the 
following  account  of  this  concert : — 

"When  I  went  behind  the  scenes  to  see  how  the 
debutant  was  feeling,  he  told  me  that  to  his  great  sur- 
prise he  was  not  in  the  least  nervous.  Before  it  came 
to  his  turn  I  returned  to  my  place.  When  Tchaikovsky 
actually  appeared  on  the  platform,  I  noticed  that  he  was 
quite  distracted  ;  he  came  on  timidly,  as  though  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  hide,  or  run  away,  and,  on  mounting  to 
the  conductor's  desk,  looked  like  a  man  who  finds  himself 
in  some  desperate  situation.  Apparently  his  composition 
was  blotted  out  from  his  mind ;  he  did  not  see  the  score 
before  him,  and  gave  all  the  leads  at  the  wrong  moment, 
or  to  the  wrong  instruments.  Fortunately  the  band  knew 
the  music  so  well  that  they  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
Tchaikovsky's  beat,  but  laughing  in  their  sleeves,  got 
through  the  dances  very  creditably  in  spite  of  him.  After- 
wards Peter  Ilich  told  me  that  in  his  terror  he  had  a 
feeling  that  his  head  would  fall  off  his  shoulders  unless  he 
held  it  tightly  in  position." 


90  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

That  he  had  no  faith  in  his  powers  of  conducting  is 
evident  from  the  fact  that  ten  years  elapsed  before  he 
ventured  to  take  up  the  baton  again. 

In  a  notice  of  the  concert,  which  appeared  in  The 
Entr'acte,  Tchaikovsky  was  spoken  of  as  a  "  mature " 
musician,  whose  work  was  remarkable  for  "  loftiness  of  aim 
and  masterly  thematic  treatment "  ;  while  Rimsky-Kor- 
sakov's  "Serbian  Fantasia"  was  dismissed  as  "colourless 
and  inanimate." 

Had  such  a  judgment  been  pronounced  a  few  months 
earlier,  at  a  time  when  Tchaikovsky  knew  nothing  of  the 
composer,  and  regarded  the  entire  Petersburg  School  as 
his  enemies,  who  knows  whether  he  would  not  have  felt 
a  certain  satisfaction — a  kind  of  "  Schadenfreude  " — at  its 
appearance?  Now,  however,  circumstances  were  altered. 
Not  only  had  he  become  well  acquainted  with  the  "Serbian 
Fantasia  "  at  rehearsal,  and  learnt  to  regard  both  the  work 
and  its  composer  with  respect,  but  during  the  last  two  or 
three  months  he  had  been  more  closely  associated  with 
the  leader  of  the  New  School,  Mily  Balakirev,  and  had 
become  convinced  that,  far  from  being  his  enemies,  the 
Petersburg  set  were  all  interested  in  his  career. 

The  result  of  this  pleasing  discovery  was  a  burning 
desire  to  show  his  sympathy  for  a  gifted  colleague,  and 
he  wrote  an  article  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  criticism 
of  the  Entfacte.  This  was  the  beginning  of  his  literary 
activity.  The  article  aroused  considerable  attention  in 
Moscow,  and  was  warmly  approved.  Nor  did  it  escape 
observation  in  St.  Petersburg.  Consequently,  when  Tchai- 
kovsky visited  his  father  at  Easter,  he  was  received  in  a 
very  friendly  spirit  by  "The  Invincible  Band."1 

The  rallying-point  of  "  The  Band  "  was  Dargomijsky's 
house.  The  composer,  although  confined  to  his  bed  by  a 
mortal  illness,  was  working  with  fire  and  inspiration  at  his 

1  Under  this  sobriquet  were  grouped  the  followers  of  the  New  Russian 
School :  Dargomijsky,  Cui,  Balakirev,  Rimsky-Korsakov,  and  others. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  91 

opera,  The  Stone  Guest.  His  young  friends  regarded  this 
work  as  the  foundation-stone  of  the  great  temple  of  "  The 
Music  of  the  Future,"  and  frequently  assembled  at  the 
"  Master's  "  to  note  the  progress  of  the  new  creation  and 
show  him  their  own  works.  Even  Tchaikovsky,  who  had 
already  met  Dargomijsky  at  Begichev's  in  Moscow,  found 
himself  more  than  once  among  the  guests,  and  made  many 
new  acquaintances  on  these  occasions. 

At  Balakirev's,  too,  he  met  many  musicians  who  held 
the  views  of  the  New  Russian  School.  Although  Tchai- 
kovsky entered  into  friendly  relations  with  the  members  of 
"  The  Invincibles,"  he  could  not  accept  their  tenets,  and 
with  great  tact  and  skill  remained  entirely  independent 
of  them.  While  he  made  friends  individually  with  Bala- 
kirev,  Rimsky-Korsakov,  Cui  and  Vladimir  Stassov,  he 
still  regarded  their  union  with  some  hostility. 

He  laughed  at  their  ultra-progressive  tendencies  and 
regarded  with  contempt  the  naive  and  crude  efforts  of 
some  members  of  "  The  Band  "  (especially  Moussorgsky). 
But  while  making  fun  of  these  "  unheard-of  works  of 
genius,"  which  "throw  all  others  into  the  shade,"  and 
indignant  at  their  daring  attacks  upon  his  idol  Mozart, 
Tchaikovsky  was  also  impressed  by  the  force  and  vitality 
displayed  in  some  of  their  compositions,  as  well  as  by  their 
freshness  of  inspiration  and  honourable  intentions,  so  that 
far  from  being  repulsed,  he  learnt  to  feel  a  certain  degree 
of  sympathy  and  a  very  great  respect  for  this  school. 

This  dual  relationship  reacted  in  two  different  ways. 
Tchaikovsky  never  hesitated  to  express  quite  openly  his 
antipathy  to  the  tendencies  of  these  innovators,  while 
he  refused  to  recognise  the  dilettante  extravagances  of 
Moussorgsky  as  masterpieces,  and  always  made  it  evident 
that  it  would  be  distasteful  to  him  to  win  the  praise  of 
Stassov  and  Cui,  and  with  it  the  title  of  "  genius,"  by 
seeking  originality  at  the  expense  of  artistic  beauty.  At 
the  same  time  he  acted  as  the  propagandist  of  "  The 


92  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

Band  "  in  Moscow,  was  their  intermediary  with  the  Moscow 
section  of  the  Musical  Society,  and  busied  himself  with  the 
performance  or  publication  of  their  works.  When  in  1869 
the  Grand  Duchess  Helena  Paulovna  desired  to  carry  out 
a  change  in  the  management  of  the  symphony  concerts, 
and  Balakirev  retired  from  the  conductorship,  Tchaikovsky 
appeared  for  the  second  time  as  the  champion  of  "  The 
Band,"  and  protested  against  the  proceedings  of  the  Grand 
Duchess  in  an  energetic  article,  in  which  he  displayed  also 
his  sympathy  with  the  leader  of  the  New  Russian  School. 
During  the  period  when  he  was  engaged  in  musical 
criticism,  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  giving  public  expression 
to  his  respect  and  enthusiasm  for  the  works  of  Balakirev 
and  Rimsky-Korsakov. 

But  the  most  obvious  sign  of  his  sympathy  with  "  The 
Band  "  is  the  fact  that  he  dedicated  three  of  his  best  works 
to  individual  members — Fatum  and  Romeo  and  Juliet  to 
Balakirev  and  The  Tempest  to  Vladimir  Stassov.  Here 
undoubtedly  we  may  see  the  indirect  influence  which  the 
New  School  exercised  upon  Tchaikovsky.  He  would  not 
amalgamate  with  them  ;  nor  would  he  adopt  their  prin- 
ciples. But  to  win  their  sympathy,  without  actually  having 
recourse  to  a  compromise ;  to  accept  their  advice  (Romeo 
and  Juliet  was  suggested  by  Balakirev  and  The  Tempest 
by  Stassov) ;  to  triumph  over  the  tasks  they  set  him  and 
to  show  his  solidarity  with  "  The  Band,"  only  in  so  far  as 
they  both  aimed  at  being  earnest  in  matters  of  art — all 
this  seemed  to  him  not  only  interesting,  but  worthy  of  his 
vocation. 

"  The  Invincible  Band  "  repaid  Tchaikovsky  in  his  own 
coin.  They  criticised  some  of  his  works  as  pedantic, 
"  behind  the  times,"  and  routinier,  but  at  the  outset  of 
his  career  they  took  the  greatest  interest  in  him,  respected 
him  as  a  worthy  rival,  strove  to  win  him  over  to  their 
views,  and  continued  to  consider  him  "among  the  elect," 
even  after  the  failure  of  their  efforts  at  conversion. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  93 

The  relations  between  Tchaikovsky  and  "The  Band" 
may  be  compared  to  those  existing  between  two  friendly 
neighbouring  states,  each  leading-its  independent  existence, 
meeting  on  common  grounds,  but  keeping  their  individual 
interests  strictly  apart. 

During  the  summer  of  this  year  Tchaikovsky  went 
abroad  with  his  favourite  pupil  Vladimir  Shilovsky,  ac- 
companied by  the  lad's  guardian,  V.  Begichev,  and  a 
friend  named  De  Lazary.  In  spite  of  a  lingering  wish 
to  spend  his  holidays  with  his  own  people  in  some  quiet 
spot,  the  opportunity  seemed  too  good  to  be  lost.  His 
travelling  companions  were  congenial,  and  his  duties  of 
the  lightest — merely  to  give  music  lessons  to  young 
Shilovsky. 

From  Paris  he  wrote  to  his  sister  on  July  2Oth  (August 
1st),  1868:— 

"  Originally  we  intended  to  visit  the  most  beautiful 
places  in  Europe,  but  Shilovsky's  illness,  and  the  need  of 
consulting  a  certain  great  doctor  with  all  possible  speed, 
brought  us  here,  and  has  kept  us  against  our  will.  .  .  .  The 
theatres  are  splendid,  not  externally,  but  as  regards  the 
staging  of  pieces  and  the  skill  with  which  effects  are 
produced  by  the  simplest  means.  They  know  how  to 
mount  and  act  a  play  here  in  such  a  way  that,  without  any 
remarkable  display  of  histrionic  talent,  it  is  more  effective 
than  it  would  be  with  us,  since  it  would  probably  lack 
rehearsal  and  ensemble. 

"As  regards  music,  too,  in  the  operas  I  have  heard  I 
remarked  no  singer  with  an  exceptional  voice,  and  yet 
what  a  splendid  performance !  How  carefully  everything  is 
studied  and  thought  out !  What  earnest  attention  is  given 
to  every  detail,  no  matter  how  insignificant,  which  goes  to 
make  up  the  general  effect !  We  have  no  conception  of 
such  performances.  .  .  .  The  noise  and  bustle  of  Paris  is 
far  less  suited  to  a  composer  than  the  quiet  of  such  a  lake 
as  the  Thuner  See,  not  to  mention  the  stinking,  but  be- 
loved, Tiasmin,1  which  is  happy  in  flowing  by  the  house 

1  The  river  at  Kamenka. 


94  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

that  holds  some  of  my  nearest  and  dearest.     How  have 
they  passed  this  summer  ?  " 

Tchaikovsky  returned  to  his  duties  at  Moscow  about  the 
end  of  August. 


1868-1869 

Externally,  Tchaikovsky's  life  had  remained  unchanged 
during  this  period.  His  lessons  at  the  Conservatoire 
slightly  increased,  and  his  salary  consequently  rose  to 
over  1,400  roubles  (£140).  Under  these  circumstances  he 
began  to  think  of  finding  separate  quarters,  since  his  life 
with  Nicholas  Rubinstein  was  unfavourable  to  his  creative 
work.  The  latter,  however,  would  not  consent  to  this,  and 
Tchaikovsky  himself  had  doubts  as  to  whether  his  income 
would  suffice  for  a  separate  establishment. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  September  $rd  (L$tK). 

"  I  have  been  working  like  a  slave  to-day.  The  day 
before  yesterday  I  received  an  unexpected  summons  to 
attend  at  the  theatre.  To  my  great  surprise  I  found  two 
choral  rehearsals  of  my  opera  ( The  Voyevode)  had  already 
been  given,  and  the  first  solo  rehearsal  was  about  to  take 
place.  I  have  undertaken  the  pianoforte  accompaniment 
myself.  I  doubt  the  possibility  of  getting  up  such  a 
difficult  work  in  a  month,  and  already  I  shiver  with 
apprehension  at  all  the  hurry-skurry  and  confusion  which 
lie  before  me.  The  rehearsals  will  take  place  almost 
daily.  The  singers  are  all  pleased  with  the  opera.  .  .  ." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"September  2$th  (October  'jth). 

"...  When  I  saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  study  my 
opera  in  so  short  a  time,  I  informed  the  directors  that  so 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  95 

long  as  the  Italian  company  remained  in  Moscow  and 
absorbed  the  time  of  both  chorus  and  orchestra,  I  would 
not  send  in  the  score  of  my  work.  I  wrote  to  Gedeonov 
to  this  effect.  In  consequence,  the  performance  is  post- 
poned until  the  Italians  leave  Moscow.  I  have  a  little 
more  leisure  now.  Besides,  Menshikova  already  knows 
the  greater  part  of  her  role  by  heart.  I  lunched  with  her 
to-day,  and  she  sang  me  several  numbers  from  the  opera, 
by  no  means  badly.  Time,  on  the  whole,  goes  quickly 
and  pleasantly. 

"  I  have  some  good  news  to  give  you  about  my  future 
work.  A  few  days  ago  I  was  lunching  with  Ostrovsky, 
and  he  proposed,  entirely  of  his  own  accord,  to  write  a 
libretto  for  me.  The  subject  has  been  in  his  mind  for  the 
last  twenty  years,  but  he  has  never  spoken  of  it  to  anyone 
before ;  now  his  choice  has  fallen  upon  me. 

"  The  scene  is  laid  in  Babylon  and  Greece,  in  the  time 
of  Alexander  of  Macedon,  who  is  introduced  as  one  of 
the  characters.  We  have  representatives  of  two  great 
races  of  antiquity :  the  Hebrews  and  the  Greeks.  The 
hero  is  a  young  Hebrew,  in  love  with  one  of  his  own  race, 
who,  actuated  by  ambitious  motives,  betrays  him  for  the 
sake  of  Alexander.  In  the  end  the  young  Hebrew  be- 
comes a  prophet.  You  have  no  idea  what  a  fine  plot  it 
is !  Just  now  I  am  writing  a  symphonic  sketch,  Fatum* 
The  Italian  opera  is  creating  a  furore.  Artot  is  a  splendid 
creature.  She  and  I  are  good  friends." 

"Early  in  1868,"  says  Laroche,  "an  Italian  opera  com- 
pany visited  Moscow  for  a  few  weeks,  at  the  head  of  which 
was  the  impresario  Merelli.  Their  performances  at  the 
Opera  drew  crowded  houses.  The  company  consisted  of 
fifth-rate  singers,  who  had  neither  voices  nor  talent ;  the 
one  exception  was  a  woman  of  thirty,  not  good-looking, 
but  with  a  passionate  and  expressive  face,  who  had  just 
reached  the  climax  of  her  art,  and  soon  afterwards  began 
to  go  off,  both  in  voice  and  appearance. 

"  Desiree  Artot,  a  daughter  of  the  celebrated  horn-player 
Artot,  and  a  niece  of  the  still  more  renowned  violinist, 

1  In  my  volume  upon  Tchaikovsky  I  have  called  this  work  Destiny. — R.  N. 


96  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

had  been  trained  by  Pauline  Viardot-Garcia.  Her  voice 
was  powerful,  and  adapted  to  express  intense  dramatic 
pathos,  but  unfortunately  it  had  no  reserve  force,  and 
began  to  deteriorate  comparatively  early,  so  that  six  or 
seven  years  after  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking  it  had 
completely  lost  its  charm.  Besides  its  dramatic  quality, 
her  voice  was  suitable  for  florid  vocalisation,  and  her  lower 
notes  were  so  good  that  she  could  take  many  mezzo- 
soprano  parts  ;  consequently  her  repertory  was  almost  un- 
limited. ...  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  in  the  whole 
world  of  music,  in  the  entire  range  of  lyrical  emotion, 
there  was  not  a  single  idea,  or  a  single  form,  of  which  this 
admirable  artist  could  not  give  a  poetical  interpretation. 
The  timbre  of  her  voice  was  more  like  the  oboe  than  the 
flute,  and  was  penetrated  by  such  indescribable  beauty, 
warmth,  and  passion,  that  everyone  who  heard  it  was 
fascinated  and  carried  away.  I  have  said  that  Desiree 
Artot  was  not  good-looking.  At  the  same  time,  without 
recourse  to  artificial  aids,  her  charm  was  so  great  that  she 
won  all  hearts  and  turned  all  heads,  as  though  she  had 
been  the  loveliest  of  women.  The  delicate  texture  and 
pallor  of  her  skin,  the  plastic  grace  of  her  movements,  the 
beauty  of  her  neck  and  arms,  were  not  her  only  weapons ; 
under  the  irregularity  of  her  features  lay  some  wonderful 
charm  of  attraction,  and  of  all  the  many  '  Gretchens '  I 
have  seen  in  my  day,  Artot  was  by  far  the  most  ideal, 
the  most  fascinating. 

"  This  was  chiefly  due  to  her  talent  as  an  actress.  I 
have  never  seen  anyone  so  perfectly  at  home  on  the  stage 
as  she  was.  From  the  first  entrance,  to  the  last  cry  of 
triumph  or  despair,  the  illusion  was  perfect.  Not  a  single 
movement  betrayed  intention  or  pre-consideration.  She 
was  equally  herself  in  a  tragic,  comic,  or  comedy  part." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  October  2ist  (November  2nd}. 

"  I  am  very  busy  writing  choruses  and  recitatives  to 
Auber's  Domino  Noir>  which  is  to  be  given  for  Artot's 
benefit.  Merelli  will  pay  me  for  the  work.  I  have  be- 
come very  friendly  with  Artot,  and  am  glad  to  know  some- 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  97 

thing  of  her  remarkable  character.  I  have  never  met  a 
kinder,  a  better,  or  a  cleverer  woman. 

"  Anton  Rubinstein  has  been  here.  He  played  divinely, 
and  created  an  indescribable  sensation.  He  has  not 
altered,  and  is  as  nice  as  ever. 

"  My  orchestral  fantasia  Fatum  is  finished." 


To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

(November?) 

"  Oh,  Moding,  I  long  to  pour  my  impressions  into  your 
artistic  soul.  If  only  you  knew  what  a  singer  and  actress 
Artot  is ! !  I  have  never  experienced  such  powerful 
artistic  impressions  as  just  recently.  How  delighted  you 
would  be  with  the  grace  of  her  movements  and  poses  !  " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

(December.) 

"...  I  have  not  written  to  you  for  a  long  while,  but 
many  things  now  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  write 
letters,  for  all  my  leisure  is  given  to  one — of  whom  you 
have  already  heard — whom  I  love  dearly. 

"  My  musical  situation  is  as  follows  :  Two  of  my  piano- 
forte pieces  are  to  be  published  in  a  day  or  two.  I  have 
arranged  twenty-five  Russian  folksongs  for  four  hands, 
which  will  be  published  immediately,  and  I  have  orches- 
trated my  fantasia  Fatum  for  the  fifth  concert  of  the 
Musical  Society. 

"  Recently  a  concert  was  given  here  for  the  benefit  of  poor 
students,  in  which  '  the  one  being '  sang  for  the  last  time 
before  her  departure,  and  Nicholas  Rubinstein  played  my 
pianoforte  piece  dedicated  to  Artot." 

To  his  father. 

"December  26th  (January  7^,  1869). 

"  MY  DEAR,  KIND  DAD  ! — To  my  great  annoyance,  cir- 
cumstances have  prevented  my  going  to  Petersburg.  This 
journey  would  have  cost  me  at  least  a  hundred  roubles, 
and  just  now  I  do  not  possess  them.  Consequently  I  must 


98  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

send  my  New  Year's  wishes  by  letter.  I  wish  you  happi- 
ness and  all  good  things.  As  rumours  of  my  engagement 
will  doubtless  have  reached  you,  and  you  may  feel  hurt  at 
my  silence  upon  the  subject,  I  will  tell  you  the  whole 
story.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Artot  in  the  spring, 
but  only  visited  her  once,  when  I  went  to  a  supper  given 
after  her  benefit  performance.  After  she  returned  here  in 
autumn  I  did  not  call  on  her  for  a  whole  month.  Then  we 
met  by  chance  at  a  musical  evening.  She  expressed  sur- 
prise that  I  had  not  called,  and  I  promised  to  do  so,  a  pro- 
mise I  should  never  have  kept  (because  of  my  shyness  with 
new  friends)  if  Anton  Rubinstein,  in  passing  through 
Moscow,  had  not  dragged  me  there.  Afterwards  I  re- 
ceived constant  invitations,  and  got  into  the  way  of  going 
to  her  house  daily.  Soon  we  began  to  experience  a  mutual 
glow  of  tenderness,  and  an  understanding  followed  imme- 
diately. Naturally  the  question  of  marriage  arose  at  once, 
and,  if  nothing  hinders  it,  our  wedding  is  to  take  place  in 
the  summer.  But  the  worst  is  that  there  are  several 
obstacles.  First,  there  is  her  mother,  who  always  lives  with 
her,  and  has  considerable  influence  upon  her  daughter. 
She  is  not  in  favour  of  the  match,  because  she  considers 
me  too  young,  and  probably  fears  lest  I  should  expect  her 
daughter  to  live  permanently  in  Russia.  Secondly,  my 
friends,  especially  N.  Rubinstein,  are  trying  might  and 
main  to  prevent  my  marriage.  They  declare  that,  married 
to  a  famous  singer,  I  should  play  the  pitiable  part  of 
'  husband  of  my  wife ' ;  that  I  should  live  at  her  expense 
and  accompany  her  all  over  Europe ;  finally,  that  I  should 
lose  all  opportunities  of  working,  and  that  when  my  first 
love  had  cooled,  I  should  know  nothing  but  disenchant- 
ment and  depression.  The  risk  of  such  a  catastrophe 
might  perhaps  be  avoided,  if  she  would  consent  to  leave 
the  stage  and  live  entirely  in  Russia.  But  she  declares 
that  in  spite  of  all  her  love  for  me,  she  cannot  make  up 
her  mind  to  give  up  the  profession  which  brings  her  in  so 
much  money,  and  to  which  she  has  grown  accustomed.  At 
present  she  is  on  her  way  to  Moscow.  Meanwhile  we  have 
agreed  that  I  am  to  visit  her  in  summer  at  her  country 
house  (near  Paris),  when  our  fate  will  be  decided. 

"If  she  will  not  consent  to  give  up  the  stage,  I,  on  my 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  99 

part,  hesitate  to  sacrifice  my  future ;  for  it  is  clear  that 
I  shall  lose  all  opportunity  of  making  my  own  way,  if  I 
blindly  follow  in  her  train.  You  see,  Dad,  my  situation 
is  a  very  difficult  one.  On  the  one  hand,  I  love  her  heart 
and  soul,  and  feel  I  cannot  live  any  longer  without  her;  on 
the  other  hand,  calm  reason  bids  me  to  consider  more 
closely  all  the  misfortunes  with  which  my  friends  threaten 
me.  I  shall  wait,  my  dear,  for  your  views  on  the  subject. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  and  my  life  goes  on  as  usual — only 
I  am  unhappy  now  she  is  not  here." 

Tchaikovsky  received  the  following  letter  in  reply : — 

"December  29^,  1868  (January  loth,  1869). 

"  MY  DEAR  PETER, — You  ask  my  advice  upon  the  most 
momentous  event  in  your  life.  .  .  .  You  are  both  artists, 
both  make  capital  out  of  your  talents ;  but  while  she  has 
made  both  money  and  fame,  you  have  hardly  begun  to 
make  your  way,  and  God  knows  whether  you  will  ever 
attain  to  what  she  has  acquired.  Your  friends  know  your 
gifts,  and  fear  they  may  suffer  by  your  marriage — I  think 
otherwise.  You,  who  gave  up  your  official  appointment 
for  the  sake  of  your  talent,  are  not  likely  to  forsake  your 
art,  even  if  you  are  not  altogether  happy  at  first,  as  is  the 
fate  of  nearly  all  musicians.  You  are  proud,  and  therefore 
you  find  it  unpleasant  not  to  be  earning  sufficient  to  keep 
a  wife  and  be  independent  of  her  purse.  Yes,  dear  fellow, 
I  understand  you  well  enough.  It  is  bitter  and  unpleasant. 
But  if  you  are  both  working  and  earning  together  there 
can  be  no  question  of  reproach  ;  go  your  way,  let  her 
go  hers,  and  help  each  other  side  by  side.  It  would  not 
be  wise  for  either  of  you  to  give  up  your  chosen  vocations 
until  you  have  saved  enough  to  say  :  *  This  is  ours,  we  have 
earned  it  in  common.' 

"  Let  us  analyse  these  words :  '  In  marrying  a  famous 
singer  you  will  be  playing  the  pitiable  part  of  attendant 
upon  her  journeys ;  you  will  live  on  her  money  and  lose 
your  own  chances  of  work.'  If  your  love  is  not  a  fleeting, 
but  solid  sentiment,  as  it  ought  to  be  in  people  of  your 
age ;  if  your  vows  are  sincere  and  unalterable,  then  all 
these  misgivings  are  nonsense.  Married  happiness  is  based 


ioo  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

upon  mutual  respect,  and  you  would  no  more  permit  your 
wife  to  be  a  kind  of  servant,  than  she  would  ask  you  to  be 
her  lackey.  The  travelling  is  not  a  matter  of  any  im- 
portance, so  long  as  it  does  not  prevent  your  composing — 
it  will  even  give  you  opportunities  of  getting  your  operas 
or  symphonies  performed  in  various  places.  A  devoted 
friend  will  help  to  inspire  you.  When  all  is  set  down 
in  black  and  white,  with  such  a  companion  as  your  chosen 
one,  your  talent  is  more  likely  to  progress  than  to  deteri- 
orate. (2)  Even  if  your  first  passion  for  her  does  cool 
somewhat,  will  'nothing  remain  but  disenchantment  and 
depression '  ?  But  why  should  love  grow  cold  ?  I  lived 
twenty-one  years  with  your  mother,  and  during  all  that 
time  I  loved  her  just  the  same,  with  the  ardour  of  a  young 
man,  and  respected  and  worshipped  her  as  a  saint.  .  .  . 
There  is  only  one  question  I  would  ask  you  ;  have  you 
proved  each  other?  Do  you  love  each  other  truly,  and 
for  all  time  ?  I  know  your  character,  my  dear  son,  and 
I  have  confidence  in  you,  but  I  have  not  as  yet  the  happi- 
ness of  knowing  the  dear  woman  of  your  choice.  I  only 
know  her  lovely  heart  and  soul  through  you.  It  would 
be  no  bad  thing  if  you  proved  each  other,  not  by  jealousy 
— God  forbid — but  by  time.  .  .  . 

"  Describe  her  character  to  me  in  full,  my  dear.  Does 
she  translate  that  tender  word  '  Desiree '  ?  A  mother's  wish 
counts  for  nothing  in  love  affairs,  but  give  it  your  con- 
sideration." 

Tchaikovsky  to  his  brother  Anatol. 

(January.) 

"Just  now  I  am  very  much  excited.  The  Voyevode 
is  about  to  be  performed.  Everyone  is  taking  the  greatest 
pains,  so  I  can  hope  for  a  good  performance.  Menshikova 
will  do  very  well ;  she  sings  the  '  Nightingale '  song  in  the 
second  act  beautifully.  The  tenor  is  not  amiss,  but  the 
bass  is  bad.  If  the  work  goes  well  I  shall  try  to  arrange 
for  you  both  to  come  here  in  the  Carnival  Week,  so  that 
you  may  hear  it. 

"  I  have  already  begun  upon  a  second  opera,  but  I  must 
not  tell  you  about  the  subject,  because  I  want  to  keep 
it  a  secret  that  I  have  anything  in  hand.  How  astonished 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  101 

they  will  be  to  find  in  summer  that  half  the  opera  is 
already  put  together!  (I  hope  in  summer  I  shall  have 
some  chance  of  working).  .  .  . 

"  With  regard  to  the  love  affair  I  had  early  in  the 
winter,  I  may  tell  you  that  it  is  very  doubtful  whether 
I  shall  enter  Hymen's  bonds  or  not.  Things  are  beginning 
to  go  rather  awry.  I  will  tell  you  more  about  it  later  on. 
I  have  not  time  now." 

During  this  month  (January)  Desiree  Artot,  without 
a  word  of  explanation  to  her  first  lover,  was  married  to 
the  baritone  singer  Padilla  at  Warsaw. 

The  news  reached  Tchaikovsky  at  a  moment  when  his 
whole  mind,  time,  and  interests  were  absorbed  by  the 
production  of  his  first  opera,  and,  judging  from  the  tone 
of  his  letters,  it  was  owing  to  these  circumstances  that  it 
affected  him  less  painfully  than  might  have  been  expected. 

In  any  case,  after  the  first  hours  of  bitterness,  Tchai- 
kovsky bore  no  grudge  against  the  faithless  lady.  She 
remained  for  him  the  most  perfect  artist  he  had  ever 
known.  As  a  woman  she  was  always  dear  to  his  memory. 
A  year  later  he  had  to  meet  her  again,  and  wrote  of  the 
prospect  as  follows  : — 

"  I  shall  have  very  shortly  to  meet  Artot.  She  is  coming 
here,  and  I  cannot  avoid  a  meeting,  because  immediately 
after  her  arrival  we  begin  the  rehearsals  for  Le  Domino 
Noir  (for  which  I  have  written  recitatives  and  choruses), 
which  I  shall  be  compelled  to  attend.  This  woman  has 
caused  me  to  experience  many  bitter  hours,  and  yet  I  am 
drawn  to  her  by  such  an  inexplicable  sympathy  that 
I  begin  to  look  forward  to  her  coming  with  feverish 
impatience." 

They  met  as  friends.  All  intimate  relations  were  at  an 
end. 

"  When,  in  1869,  Artot  reappeared  at  the  Moscow  Opera," 
says  Kashkin,  "  I  sat  in  the  stalls  next  to  Tchaikovsky, 
who  was  greatly  moved.  When  the  singer  came  on,  he  held 


102  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

his  opera  glasses  to  his  eyes  and  never  lowered  them 
during  the  entire  performance ;  but  he  must  have  seen 
very  little,  for  tear  after  tear  rolled  down  his  cheeks." 

Twenty  years  later  they  met  once  more.  Youthful  love 
and  mutual  sympathy  had  then  given  place  to  a  steady 
friendship,  which  lasted  the  rest  of  their  lives. 

On  January  3<Dth  (February  nth),  1869,  The  Voyevode 
was  given  for  the  first  time  for  the  singer  Menshikova's 
benefit. 

The  opera  was  very  well  received.  The  composer  was 
recalled  fifteen  times  and  presented  with  a  laurel  wreath. 
The  performance,  however,  was  not  without  mishaps. 
Rapport,  who  took  the  lover's  part,  had  been  kept  awake 
all  night  by  an  abscess  on  his  finger,  and  was  nearly  fainting. 
"  If  Menshikova  had  not  supported  him  in  her  arms,  the 
curtain  must  have  been  rung  down,"  wrote  Tchaikovsky  to 
his  brothers. 

Kashkin  says  the  chorus  on  a  folksong,  which  occurred 
early  in  the  opera,  pleased  at  once,  and  the  "  Nightingale  " 
song  became  a  favourite.  The  tenor  solo,  "Glow,  O  Dawn- 
light,"  based  upon  the  pentatonic  scale,  and  the  duet 
between  Olona  and  Maria,  "  The  moon  sails  calmly,"  and 
the  last  quartet  all  met  with  great  success. 

But  the  stormy  ovation  at  the  first  performance,  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  composer's  friends,  and  the  apprecia- 
tion of  one  or  two  specialists,  could  not  create  a  lasting 
success.  The  opera  was  only  heard  five  times,  and  then 
disappeared  from  the  repertory  for  ever. 

The  first  words  of  disapprobation  and  harsh  criticism 
came  from  an  unexpected  quarter — from  Laroche.  It  was 
not  only  his  "  faint  praise "  of  this  work,  but  the  con- 
temptuous attitude  which  Laroche  now  assumed  towards 
Tchaikovsky's  talent  as  a  whole,  which  wounded  the  com- 
poser so  deeply  that  he  broke  off  all  connection  with  his 
old  friend. 

Soon  after  the  production  of  The  Voyevode  Tchaikovsky's 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1 868 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  103 

symphonic  fantasia  Fatum  (or  Destiny]  was  given  for  the 
first  time  at  the  eighth  concert  of  the  Musical  Society. 
By  way  of  programme  for  this  work,  which  he  dedicated 
to  Balakirev,  Tchaikovsky  chose  the  following  lines  from 
Batioushkov : — 

"  Thou  knowest  what  the  white-haired  Melchisedek 
Said  when  he  left  this  life  :  Man  is  born  a  slave, 
A  slave  he  dies.     Will  even  Death  reveal  to  him 
Why  thus  he  laboured  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
Why  thus  he  suffered,  wept,  endured — then  vanished  ?" 

To  the  choice  of  this  motto  attaches  a  history  in  which 
a  certain  Sergius  Rachinsky  played  a  part.  This  gentle- 
man, Professor  of  Botany  at  the  Moscow  University,  was 
one  of  Tchaikovsky's  earliest  and  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers. Rachinsky  was  a  lover  of  music  and  literature, 
but  held  the  most  unusual  views  upon  these,  as  upon  all 
other  subjects.  For  instance,  he  saw  nothing  in  Ostrovsky, 
then  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  but  discerned  in  Tchai- 
kovsky, who  was  hardly  known  to  the  world,  the  making 
of  a  "  great "  composer. 

When,  in  1871,  the  musician  dedicated  to  Rachinsky  his 
first  quartet,  the  latter  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm :  "  C'est 
un  brevet  d'immortalite  que  j'ai  regu." 

Originally  Fatum  had  no  definite  programme. 

"When  the  books  for  the  concert  were  about  to  be 
printed,"  relates  Rachinsky,  "  Rubinstein,  who  was  always 
very  careful  about  such  details,  considered  the  bare  title 
Fatum  insufficient,  and  suggested  that  an  appropriate 
verse  should  be  added.  It  chanced  that  I,  who  had  not 
heard  a  note  of  the  new  work,  had  dropped  in  upon 
Rubinstein,  and  the  verses  of  Batioushkov  flashed  across 
my  mind.  Rubinstein  asked  me  to  write  them  down  at 
once,  and  added  them  to  the  programme-book  with  the 
composer's  consent." 

The  quotation,  therefore,  has  not  the  significance  of  a 


104  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

programme,  but  was  merely  an  epigraph  added  to  the 
score. 

The  composer  declared  that  Fatum  had  a  "distinct 
success  "  with  the  public,  and  added  that  he  "  considered  it 
the  best  work  he  had  written  so  far,"  and  "  others  are  of 
my  opinion."  From  this  we  may  gather  that,  with  the 
exception  of  Laroche,  Tchaikovsky's  musical  friends  were 
pleased  with  this  composition. 

Fatum  was  given  almost  simultaneously  by  the  Peters- 
burg section  of  the  Musical  Society,  under  Balakirev's 
direction.  But  here  the  fantasia  fell  flat,  and  pleased 
neither  the  public  nor  the  musicians. 

Nevertheless,  Cui  did  not  handle  the  young  composer 
so  severely  as  on  the  occasion  of  his  Diploma  Cantata. 
He  found  fault  with  a  good  deal  in  Fatum,  but  described 
the  music  as  being  on  the  whole  "  agreeable,  but  not  in- 
spired," the  instrumentation  "somewhat  rough,"  and  the 
harmonies  "  bold  and  new,  if  not  invariably  beautiful." 

Balakirev — to  whom  the  work  was  dedicated — did  not 
admire  it,  and  his  feelings  were  shared  by  the  rest  of  the 
"  Invincible  Band."  He  wrote  to  Tchaikovsky  as  follows  : — 

"Your  Fatum  has  been  played,  and  I  venture  to  hope 
the  performance  was  not  bad — at  least  everyone  seemed 
satisfied  with  it.  There  was  not  much  applause,  which 
I  ascribe  to  the  hideous  crash  at  the  end.  The  work  itself 
does  not  please  me ;  it  is  not  sufficiently  thought  out,  and 
shows  signs  of  having  been  written  hastily.  In  many 
places  the  joins  and  tacking-threads  are  too  perceptible. 
Laroche  says  it  is  because  you  do  not  study  the  classics 
sufficiently.  I  put  it  down  to  another  cause :  you  are  too 
little  acquainted  with  modern  music.  You  will  never 
learn  freedom  of  form  from  the  classical  composers.  You 
will  find  nothing  new  there.  They  can  only  give  you 
what  you  knew  already,  when  you  sat  on  the  students' 
benches  and  listened  respectfully  to  Zaremba's  learned 
discourses  upon  'The  Connection  between  Rondo-form 
and  Man's  First  Fall.' 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  105 

"At  the  same  concert  Les  Preludes  of  Liszt  was  per- 
formed. Observe  the  wonderful  form  of  this  work ;  how 
one  thing  follows  another  quite  naturally.  This  is  no 
mere  motley,  haphazard  affair.  Or  take  Glinka's  Night 
in  Madrid ;  in  what  a  masterly  fashion  the  various  sec- 
tions of  this  overture  are  fused  together !  It  is  just  this 
organic  coherence  and  connection  that  are  lacking  in 
Fatum.  I  have  chosen  Glinka  as  an  example  because 
I  believe  you  have  studied  him  a  great  deal,  and  I  could 
see  all  through  Fatum  you  were  under  the  influence  of 
one  of  his  choruses. 

"  The  verse  you  chose  as  an  epigraph  is  altogether  be- 
neath criticism.  It  is  a  frightful  specimen  of  manufactured 
rhyme.  If  you  are  really  so  attracted  to  Byronism,  why 
not  have  chosen  a  suitable  quotation  from  Lermontov? 
With  the  object  of  making  the  verse  run  smoother  I  left 
out  the  first  two  lines  (Melchisedek  seemed  really  too 
absurd !),  but  apparently  I  perpetrated  a  blunder.  Our 
entire  circle  dropped  upon  me  and  assured  me  that  the 
whole  of  the  introduction  to  Fatum  was  intended  to  ex- 
press the  awful  utterance  of  Melchisedek  himself.  Per- 
haps they  are  right.  If  so,  you  must  forgive  my  excellent 
intention.  ...  I  write  to  you  quite  frankly,  and  feel  sure 
you  will  not  on  this  account  abandon  your  intention  of 
dedicating  Fatum  to  me.  This  dedication  is  very 
precious,  as  indicating  your  regard  for  me,  and  on  my 
part  I  reciprocate  your  feeling." 

Tchaikovsky  did  not  resent  Balakirev's  opinion,  although 
it  may  have  wounded  him.  That  he  was  grateful  for  the 
friendly  tone  of  the  letter,  in  which  Balakirev's  confidence 
in  his  talent  was  clearly  perceptible,  is  evident  from  the 
fact  that  three  months  later  he  appeared  in  the  press  as 
the  champion  of  the  leader  of  the  "  Invincible  Band." 
Moreover,  after  a  short  time,  he  shared  Balakirev's  opinion 
of  his  work,  and  destroyed  the  score  of  Fatum. 

Early  in  the  season  Tchaikovsky  began  to  look  out  for 
material  for  a  new  opera.  The  chief  requisite  he  asked 
was  that  the  scene  should  not  be  laid  in  Russia.  The  dis- 
cussion with  Ostrovsky  of  a  plot  from  the  period  of 


106  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Alexander  the  Great,  mentioned  in  his  letter  of  Sep- 
tember 25th,  had  come  to  nothing.  Without  applying  to 
another  librettist,  he  began  to  search  for  a  ready-made 
text.  Great  was  his  joy  to  discover  a  book  among  the 
works  of  Count  Sollogoub,  based  upon  his  favourite  poem, 
Joukovsky's  "  Undine." 

Without  reflection,  or  closer  inspection  of  the  libretto,  he 
began  to  compose  with  fervour,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
rehearsals  for  The  Voyevode ;  that  is  in  January,  1869. 
By  February  he  had  already  written  most  of  the  first  act. 
The  two  following  acts  he  wrote  in  April,  and  began  the 
orchestration  in  the  course  of  the  same  month.  He  hoped 
to  complete  the  first  act  in  May,  and  the  remainder  during 
the  summer,  and  to  send  the  whole  score  to  the  Direction 
of  the  Petersburg  Opera  by  November,  when  Gedeonov 
had  given  him  a  formal  promise  to  produce  it. 

This  feverish  work,  the  many  excitements  of  the  winter 
season,  his  anxiety  about  the  elder  of  the  twins,  who  had 
to  pass  his  final  examination  at  the  School  of  Jurisprudence, 
and  all  the  trouble  and  correspondence  involved  in  trying 
to  find  him  an  opening  in  Moscow,  told  upon  Tchaikovsky's 
nerves.  His  health  was  so  far  impaired  that  he  gradually 
lost  strength,  until  he  became  quite  exhausted,  and  the 
doctor  ordered  him  to  the  seaside,  or  to  an  inland  watering- 
place,  enjoining  absolute  repose. 

The  summer  was  spent  with  his  sister  at  Kamenka,  where 
the  whole  family  was  gathered  together,  with  the  exception 
of  Nicholas.  In  June  they  celebrated  the  wedding  of  his 
brother,  Hyppolite,  to  Sophia  Nikonov,  and  Tchaikovsky, 
having  recovered  his  spirits,  took  a  leading  part  in  all  the 
festivities. 

The  score  of  Undine  was  finished  by  the  end  of  July, 
and  the  composer  returned  to  Moscow  earlier  than  usual — 
about  the  beginning  of  August. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  107 

VI 

1869-1870 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

" 'August  nM  (23^,  1869. 

".  .  .  We  have  taken  new  quarters;  my  room  is  upstairs, 
and  there  is  a  place  for  you  too.  I  made  every  possible 
pretext  for  living  alone,  but  I  could  not  manage  it.  How- 
ever, now  I  shall  pay  my  own  expenses  and  keep  my  own 
servant.  .  .  .  Begichev  has  taken  my  opera  to  Petersburg. 
Whether  it  is  produced  or  not,  I  have  finished  with  it  and 
can  turn  to  something  else.  Balakirev  is  staying  here.  We 
often  meet,  and  I  always  come  to  the  conclusion  that — in 
spite  of  his  worthiness — his  society  weighs  upon  me  like 
a  stone.  I  particularly  dislike  the  narrowness  of  his  views, 
and  the  persistence  with  which  he  upholds  them.  At  the 
same  time  his  short  visit  has  been  of  benefit  to  me  in 
many  respects." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"August  iSM  (so/A). 

"I  have  no  news  to  give.  Balakirev  leaves  to-day. 
Although  he  has  sometimes  bored  me,  I  must  in  justice 
say  that  he  is  a  good,  honourable  man,  and  immeasurably 
above  the  average  as  an  artist.  We  have  just  taken  a 
touching  farewell  of  each  other.  .  .  . 

"  I  gave  an  evening  party  not  long  since.  Balakirev, 
Borodin,  Kashkin,  Klimenko,  Arnold  and  Plestcheiev  were 
among  the  guests. 

"  I  met  Laroche  in  The  Hermitage  and  said  '  Good-day/ 
but  I  have  no  intention  of  making  it  up  with  him." 

Towards  the  end  of  September,  1869,  Tchaikovsky  set 
to  work  upon  his  overture  to  Romeo  and  Juliet,  to  which  he 
had  been  incited  by  Balakirev's  suggestions.  Indeed,  the 
latter  played  so  important  a  part  in  the  genesis  of  this 
work  that  it  is  necessary  to  speak  of  it  in  detail. 

Balakirev  not  only  suggested  the  subject,  but  took  such 


io8 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


a  lively  interest  in  the  work  that  he  kept  up  a  continuous 
current  of  good  advice  and  solicitations.  In  October  he 
wrote : — 

"It  strikes  me  that  your  inactivity  proceeds  from  your 
lack  of  concentration,  in  spite  of  your  '  snug  workshop.' 
I  do  not  know  your  method  of  composing,  mine  is  as 
follows  :  when  I  wrote  my  King  Lear,  having  first  read  the 
play,  I  felt  inspired  to  compose  an  overture  (which  Stassov 
had  already  suggested  to  me).  At  first  I  had  no  actual 
material,  I  only  warmed  to  the  project.  An  Introduction, 
'  maestoso/  followed  by  something  mystical  (Kent's  Pre- 
diction). The  Introduction  dies  away  and  gives  place  to 
a  stormy  allegro.  This  is  Lear  himself,  the  discrowned, 
but  still  mighty,  lion.  By  way  of  episodes  the  characteristic 
themes  of  Regan  and  Goneril,  and  then — a  second  subject 
— Cordelia,  calm  and  tender.  The  middle  section  (storm, 
Lear  and  the  Fool  on  the  heath)  and  repetition  of  the 
allegro :  Regan  and  Goneril  finally  crush  their  father,  and 
the  overture  dies  away  softly  (Lear  over  Cordelia's  corpse), 
then  the  prediction  of  Kent  is  heard  once  more,  and  finally 
the  peaceful  and  solemn  note  of  death.  You  must  under- 
stand that,  so  far,  I  had  no  definite  musical  ideas.  These 
came  later  and  took  their  place  within  my  framework. 
I  believe  you  will  feel  the  same,  if  once  you  are  inspired  by 
the  project.  Then  arm  yourself  with  goloshes  and  a  walk- 
ing-stick and  go  for  a  constitutional  on  the  Boulevards, 
starting  with  the  Nikitsky ;  let  yourself  be  saturated  with 
your  plan,  and  I  am  convinced  by  the  time  you  reach  the 
Sretensky  Boulevard  some  theme  or  episode  will  have 
come  to  you.  Just  at  this  moment,  thinking  of  your 
overture,  an  idea  has  come  to  me  involuntarily,  and  I  seem 
to  see  that  it  should  open  with  a  fierce  '  allegro  with  the 
clash  of  swords.'  Something  like  this  : 


Blech  fis 3: 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  109 

"  I  should  begin  in  this  style.  If  I  were  going  to  write 
the  overture  I  should  become  enthusiastic  over  this  germ, 
and  I  should  brood  over  it,  or  rather  turn  it  over  in  my 
mind  until  something  vital  came  of  it. 

"If  these  lines  have  a  good  effect  upon  you  I  shall 
be  very  pleased.  I  have  a  certain  right  to  hope  for  this, 
because  your  letters  do  me  good.  Your  last,  for  instance, 
made  me  so  unusually  light-hearted  that  I  rushed  out  into 
the  Nevsky  Prospect ;  I  did  not  walk,  I  danced  along,  and 
composed  part  of  my  Tamara  as  I  went." 

When  Balakirev  heard  that  Tchaikovsky  was  actually 
at  work,  he  wrote  in  November  : — 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  the  child  of  your  fancy 
has  quickened.  God  grant  it  comes  to  a  happy  birth. 
I  am  very  curious  to  know  what  you  have  put  into  the 
overture.  Do  send  me  what  you  have  done  so  far,  and 
I  promise  not  to  make  any  remarks — good  or  bad — until 
the  thing  is  finished." 

After  Tchaikovsky  had  acceded  to  Balakirev's  request, 
and  sent  him  the  chief  subjects  of  his  overture,  he  received 
the  following  answer,  which  caused  him  to  make  some 
modifications  in  the  work  : — 

"...  As  your  overture  is  all  but  finished,  and  will  soon 
be  played,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it  quite  frankly 
(I  do  not  use  this  word  in  Zaremba's  sense).  The  first 
subject  does  not  please  me  at  all.  Perhaps  it  improves  in 
the  working  out — I  cannot  say — but  in  the  crude  state  in 
which  it  lies  before  me  it  has  neither  strength  nor  beauty, 
and  does  not  sufficiently  suggest  the  character  of  Father 
Lawrence.  Here  something  like  one  of  Liszt's  chorales — 
in  the  old  Catholic  Church  style — would  be  very  appro- 
priate (The  Night  Procession,  Hunnenschlacht,  and  St. 
Elizabeth} ;  your  motive  is  of  quite  a  different  order,  in  the 
style  of  a  quartet  by  Haydn,  that  genius  of  "burgher" 
music  which  induces  a  fierce  thirst  for  beer.  There  is 
nothing  of  old-world  Catholicism  about  it ;  it  recalls  rather 


no  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  type  of  Gogol's  Comrade  Kunz,  who  wanted  to  cut  off 
his  nose  to  save  the  money  he  spent  on  snuff.  But  possibly 
in  its  development  your  motive  may  turn  out  quite  differ- 
ently, in  which  case  I  will  eat  my  own  words. 

"  As  to  the  B  minor  theme,  it  seems  to  me  less  a  theme 
than  a  lovely  introduction  to  one,  and  after  the  agitated 
movement  in  C  major,  something  very  forcible  and  ener- 
getic should  follow.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  it  will 
really  be  so,  and  that  you  were  too  lazy  to  write  out  the 
context. 

"  The  first  theme  in  D  flat  major  is  very  pretty,  although 
rather  colourless.  The  second,  in  the  same  key,  is  simply 
fascinating.  I  often  play  it,  and  would  like  to  hug  you  for 
it.  It  has  the  sweetness  of  love,  its  tenderness,  its  longing, 
in  a  word,  so  much  that  must  appeal  to  the  heart  of  that 
immoral  German,  Albrecht.  I  have  only  one  thing  to  say 
against  this  theme :  it  does  not  sufficiently  express  a 
mystic,  inward,  spiritual  love,  but  rather  a  fantastic  pas- 
sionate glow  which  has  hardly  any  nuance  of  Italian 
sentiment.  Romeo  and  Juliet  were  not  Persian  lovers, 
but  Europeans.  I  do  not  know  if  you  will  understand 
what  I  am  driving  at — I  always  feel  the  lack  of  appro- 
priate words  when  I  speak  of  music,  and  I  am  obliged 
to  have  recourse  to  comparison  in  order  to  explain  myself. 
One  subject  in  which  spiritual  love  is  well  expressed — 
according  to  my  ideas  —  is  the  second  theme  in  Schu- 
mann's overture,  The  Bride  of  Messina.  The  subject  has 
its  weak  side  too ;  it  is  morbid  and  somewhat  sentimental 
at  the  end,  but  the  fundamental  emotion  is  sincere. 

"  I  am  impatient  to  receive  the  entire  score,  so  that 
I  may  get  a  just  impression  of  your  clever  overture,  which 
is — so  far — your  best  work ;  the  fact  that  you  have  dedi- 
cated it  to  me  affords  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  It  is  the 
first  of  your  compositions  which  contains  so  many  beauti- 
ful things  that  one  does  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  it  good 
as  a  whole.  It  cannot  be  compared  with  that  old  Mel- 
chisedek,  who  was  so  drunk  with  sorrow  that  he  must 
needs  dance  his  disgusting  trepak  in  the  Arbatsky  Square. 
Send  me  the  score  soon  ;  I  am  longing  to  see  it." 

But  even  in  a  somewhat  modified  form,  Balakirev  was 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  in 

not  quite  satisfied  with  the  overture,     On  January  22nd 
(February  3rd),  1871,  he  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  I  am  very  pleased  with  the  introduction,  but  the  end  is 
not  at  all  to  my  taste.  It  is  impossible  to  write  of  it 
in  detail.  It  would  be  better  if  you  came  here,  so  that 
I  could  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it.  In  the  middle  section 
you  have  done  something  new  and  good  ;  the  alternating 
chords  above  the  pedal-point,  rather  a  la  Russian.  The 
close  becomes  very  commonplace,  and  the  whole  of  the 
section  after  the  end  of  the  second  subject  (D  major) 
seems  to  have  been  dragged  from  your  brain  by  main 
force.  The  actual  ending  is  not  bad,  but  why  those  accen- 
tuated chords  in  the  very  last  bars?  This  seems  to  con- 
tradict the  meaning  of  the  play,  and  is  inartistic.  Nadejda 
Nicholaevna 1  has  scratched  out  these  chords  with  her  own 
fair  hands,  and  wants  to  make  the  pianoforte  arrangement 
end  pianissimo.  I  do  not  know  whether  you  will  consent 
to  this  alteration." 

When  this  arbitrary  treatment  of  the  composer's  inten- 
tion had  been  carried  through,  the  indefatigable  critic 
wrote  once  more  : — 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  you,  or  rather  Rubinstein,  should  have 
hurried  the  publication  of  the  overture.  Although  the  new 
introduction  is  a  decided  improvement,  yet  I  had  still 
a  great  desire  to  see  some  other  alterations  made  in  the 
work,  and  hoped  it  might  remain  longer  in  your  hands  for 
the  sake  of  your  future  compositions.  However,  I  hope 
Jurgenson  will  not  refuse  to  print  a  revised  and  improved 
version  of  the  overture  at  some  future  time. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  October  >]th  (igth). 

"  The  Conservatoire  begins  already  to  be  repugnant  to 
me,  and  the  lessons  I  am  obliged  to  give  fatigue  me  as 

1  Madame  Rimsky-Korsakov,  nde  Pourgold.  In  his  final  arrangement 
Tchaikovsky  omitted  these  chords  himself. 


U2  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

they  did  last  year.  Just  now  I  am  not  working  at  all. 
Romeo  and  Juliet  is  finished.  Yesterday  I  received  a 
commission  from  Bessel.  He  asked  me  to  arrange  Rubin- 
stein's overture  to  Ivan  the  Terrible.  I  have  had  a  letter 
from  Balakirev  scolding  me  because  I  am  doing  nothing. 
I  hear  nothing  definite  about  my  opera :  they  say  it  will 
be  performed,  but  the  date  is  uncertain.  I  often  go  to 
the  opera.  The  sisters  Marchisio  are  good,  especially  in 
Semiramide.  Yet  when  I  hear  them  I  am  more  and  more 
convinced  that  Artot  is  the  greatest  artist  in  the  world." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  18/^(30^). 

"Yesterday  I  received  very  sad  news  from  Petersburg. 
My  opera  is  to  wait  until  next  season,  because  there  is  not 
sufficient  time  to  study  the  two  operas  which  stand  before 
mine  in  the  repertory :  Moniuszko's  Halka  and  Diitsch's 
Croat.  I  am  not  likely  therefore  to  come  to  Petersburg. 
From  the  pecuniary  point  of  view  the  postponement  of 
my  opera  is  undesirable.  Morally,  too,  it  is  bad  for  me ; 
that  is  to  say,  I  shall  be  incapable  of  any  work  for  two  or 
three  weeks  to  come." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

11 January  \$th  (25^),  1870. 

"  Balakirev  and  Rimsky-Korsakov  have  been  here.  We 
saw  each  other  every  day.  Balakirev  begins  to  respect  me 
more  and  more.  Korsakov  has  dedicated  a  charming  song 
to  me.  My  overture  pleased  them  both,  and  I  like  it 
myself.  Besides  the  overture,  I  have  recently  composed  a 
chorus  from  the  opera  Mandragora,  the  text  of  which,  by 
Rachinsky,  is  already  known  to  you.  I  intended  to  write 
music  to  this  libretto,  but  my  friends  dissuaded  me,  because 
they  considered  the  opera  gave  too  little  scope  for  stage 
effects.  Now  Rachinsky  is  writing  another  book  for  me, 
called  Raymond  Lully" 

Kashkin  was  one  of  the  friends  who  dissuaded  Tchai- 
kovsky from  composing  Mandragora.  The  latter  played 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  113 

him  a  '  Chorus  of  Insects '  from  the  unfinished  work,  which 
pleased  him  very  much.  But  he  thought  the  subject  more 
suitable  for  a  ballet  than  an  opera.  A  fierce  argument 
took  place  which  lasted  a  long  time.  Finally,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  Tchaikovsky  came  round  to  Kashkin's  view, 
and  relinquished  his  intention  of  writing  this  opera.  It 
made  him  very  unhappy  and  more  chary  in  future  of 
confiding  his  plans  to  his  friends. 

Laroche  gives  the  following  account  of  this  unpublished 
chorus : — 

" '  The  Elves'  Chorus '  is  intended  for  boys'  voices  in 
unison,  with  accompaniment  for  mixed  chorus  and  or- 
chestra. The  atmosphere  of  a  calm  moonlight  night 
(described  in  the  text)  and  the  fantastic  character  of  the 
scene  are  admirably  reproduced.  In  this  chorus  we  find 
not  only  that  silky  texture,  that  softness,  distinction,  and 
delicacy  which  Tchaikovsky  shows  in  all  his  best  work, 
but  far  more  marked  indications  of  maturity  than  in  any 
of  his  earlier  compositions.  The  orchestration  is  very  rich, 
and  on  the  whole  original,  although  the  influence  of  Berlioz 
is  sometimes  noticeable." 

To  his  sister,  A.  Davidov. 

"February  5/^(17^). 

"One  thing  troubles  me:  there  is  no  one  in  Moscow 
with  whom  I  can  enter  into  really  intimate,  familiar,  and 
homely  relations.  I  often  think  how  happy  I  should  be  if 
you,  or  someone  like  you,  lived  here.  I  have  a  great 
longing  for  the  sound  of  children's  voices,  and  for  a  share 
in  all  the  trifling  interests  of  a  home — in  a  word,  for  family 
life. 

"  I  intend  to  begin  a  third  opera  ;  this  time  on  a  subject 
borrowed  from  Lajetnikov's  tragedy,  The  Oprichnik.  My 
Undine  is  to  be  produced  at  the  beginning  of  next  season, 
if  they  do  not  fail  me.  Although  the  spring  is  still  far  off 
and  the  frosts  are  hardly  over  yet,  I  have  already  begun 
to  think  of  the  summer,  and  to  long  for  the  early  spring 
sunshine,  which  always  has  such  a  good  effect  upon  me." 


U4  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  March  $rd  (15^),  1870. 

"...  The  day  after  to-morrow  my  overture  Romeo  and 
Juliet  will  be  performed.  There  has  been  a  rehearsal 
already :  the  work  does  not  seem  detestable.  But  the 
Lord  only  knows !  .  .  . 

"  In  the  third  week  of  Lent  excerpts  from  my  opera 
Undine  will  be  played  at  Merten's1  concert.  I  am  very 
curious  to  hear  them.  Sietov  writes  that  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  the  opera  will  be  given  early  next 


Merten's  concert  took  place  on  March  i6th  (28th). 
Kashkin  says  it  gave  further  proof  how  hardly  Tchai- 
kovsky conquered  the  public  sympathy. 

"In  the  orchestration  of  the  aria  from  Undine?  he  says, 
"the  pianoforte  plays  an  important  and  really  beautiful 
part.  Nicholas  Rubinstein  undertook  to  play  it ;  yet,  in 
spite  of  the  wonderful  rendering  of  the  piece,  it  had  very 
little  success.  After  the  adagio  from  the  First  Symphony — 
also  included  in  the  programme — even  a  slight  hissing 
was  heard.  The  Italian  craze  was  still  predominant  at 
the  Opera  House,  so  that  it  was  very  difficult  for  a  Russian 
work  to  find  recognition." 

Romeo  and  Juliet ',  given  at  the  Musical  Society's  Concert 
on  March  4th  (i6th),  had  no  success. 

On  the  previous  day  the  decision  in  the  case  of 
"  Schebalsky  v.  Rubinstein "  had  been  made  public,  and 
the  Director  of  the  Conservatoire  had  been  ordered  to  pay 
25  roubles,  damages  for  the  summary  and  wrongful  dis- 
missal of  this  female  student.  Rubinstein  refused  to  pay, 
and  gave  notice  of  appeal,  but  the  master's  admirers 
immediately  collected  the  small  sum,  in  order  to  spare  him 

1  Conductor  at  the  Opera  House. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  115 

the  few  hours'  detention  which  his  refusal  involved.  This 
event  gave  rise  to  a  noisy  demonstration  when  he  ap- 
peared in  public.  Kashkin  says  : — 

"From  the  moment  Nicholas  Rubinstein  came  on  the 
platform,  until  the  end  of  the  concert,  he  was  made  the 
subject  of  an  extraordinary  ovation.  No  one  thought  of 
the  concert  or  the  music,  and  I  felt  indignant  that  the  first 
performance  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  should  have  taken  place 
under  such  conditions." 

So  it  came  about  that  the  long-desired  evening,  which 
he  hoped  would  bring  him  a  great  success,  brought  only 
another  disillusionment  for  Tchaikovsky.  The  composer's 
melancholy  became  a  shade  darker.  "  I  just  idle  away  the 
time  cruelly,"  he  writes,  "  and  my  opera,  The  Oprichnik^  has 
come  to  a  standstill  at  the  first  chorus." 


To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  March  2$th  (April  6th). 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  leaving  school.  Looking  back 
over  the  years  that  have  passed  since  I  left  the  School  of 
Jurisprudence,  I  observe  with  some  satisfaction  that  the 
time  has  not  been  lost.  I  wish  the  same  for  you.  .  .  ." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"April  2$rd  (May  $th). 

"  Rioumin x  wants  to  convert  me  at  any  price.  He  has 
given  me  a  number  of  religious  books,  and  I  have 
promised  to  read  them  all.  In  any  case,  I  now  walk 
in  ways  of  godliness.  In  Passion  week  I  fasted  with 
Rubinstein. 

"  About  the  middle  of  May  I  shall  probably  go  abroad. 
I  am  partly  pleased  at  the  prospect  and  partly  sorry, 
because  I  shall  not  see  you." 

1  Constantine  Ivanovich  Rioumin,  the  guardian  of  Vladimir  Shilovsky. 


ii6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  I.  A.  Klimenko. 

"May  \st(i$th\  1870. 

".  .  .  First  I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  sitting  at  the  open 
window  (at  four  a.m.)  and  breathing  the  lovely  air  of  a 
spring  morning.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  my  present 
amiable  mood  I  am  suddenly  seized  with  a  desire  to  talk 
to  you — to  you  of  all  people,  you  ungrateful  creature ! 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  life  is  still  good,  and  that  it  is  worth 
living  on  a  May  morning;  and  so,  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  am  pouring  out  my  heart  to  you,  while  you, 
O  empoisoned  and  lifeless  being,  will  only  laugh  at  me. 
Well,  laugh  away ;  all  the  same,  I  assert  that  life  is  beauti- 
ful in  spite  of  everything  !  This  '  everything '  includes  the 
following  items :  i.  Illness ;  I  am  getting  much  too  stout, 
and  my  nerves  are  all  to  pieces.  2.  The  Conservatoire 
oppresses  me  to  extinction  ;  I  am  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  I  am  absolutely  unfitted  to  teach  the  theory  of 
music.  3.  My  pecuniary  situation  is  very  bad.  4.  I  am 
very  doubtful  if  Undine  will  be  performed.  I  have  heard 
that  they  are  likely  to  throw  me  over.  In  a  word,  there 
are  many  thorns,  but  the  roses  are  there  too.  .  .  . 

"As  regards  ambition,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  cer- 
tainly not  been  flattered  of  late.  My  songs  were  praised 
by  Laroche,  although  Cui  has  *  slated  '  them,  and  Balakirev 
thinks  them  so  bad  that  he  persuaded  Khvostova — who 
wanted  to  sing  the  one  Phad  dedicated  to  her — not  to  ruin 
with  its  presence  a  programme  graced  by  the  names  of 
Moussorgsky  &  Co. 

"  My  overture,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  had  hardly  any  success 
here,  and  has  remained  quite  unnoticed.  I  thought  a  great 
deal  about  you  that  night.  After  the  concert  we  supped, 
a  large  party,  at  Gourin's  (a  famous  restaurant).  No  one 
said  a  single  word  about  the  overture  during  the  evening. 
And  yet  I  yearned  so  for  appreciation  and  kindness ! 
Yes,  I  thought  a  great  deal  about  you,  and  of  your  en- 
couraging sympathy.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  slow 
progress  of  my  opera,  The  Oprichnik  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  no  one  takes  any  interest  in  what  I  write ;  I  am  very 
doubtful  if  I  shall  get  it  finished  for  at  least  two  years." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  117 

Tchaikovsky  spent  only  a  few  days  in  St.  Petersburg 
before  going  abroad.  There  he  heard  the  final  verdict 
upon  his  opera  Undine.  The  conference  of  the  Capell- 
meisters  of  the  Imperial  Opera,  with  Constantine  Liadov 
at  their  head,  did  not  consider  the  work  worthy  of  pro- 
duction. How  the  composer  took  this  decision,  what  he 
felt  and  thought  of  it,  we  can  only  guess  from  our  know- 
ledge of  his  susceptible  artistic  amour  propre.  At  the 
time,  he  never  referred  to  the  matter,  either  in  letters 
or  in  conversation.  Eight  years  afterwards  he  wrote  as 
follows  : — 

"The  Direction  put  aside  my  Undine  in  1870.  At  the 
time  I  felt  much  embittered,  and  it  seemed  to  me  an 
injustice ;  but  in  the  end  I  was  not  pleased  with  the  work 
myself,  and  I  burnt  the  score  about  three  years  ago." 

Tchaikovsky  travelled  from  St.  Petersburg  to  Paris  with- 
out a  break,  being  anxious  to  reach  his  friend  Shilovsky 
with  all  possible  speed.  He  half  feared  to  find  him  already 
on  his  death-bed.  The  young  man  was  extremely  weak, 
but  able  to  travel  to  Soden  at  the  end  of  three  days.  The 
atmosphere  of  ill-health  in  which  Tchaikovsky  found  him- 
self— Soden  is  a  resort  for  consumptive  patients — was  very 
depressing,  but  he  determined  to  endure  it  for  his  friend's 
sake. 

"  The  care  of  Volodya," l  he  wrote,  "  is  a  matter  of  con- 
science with  me,  for  his  life  hangs  by  a  thread  ...  his 
affection  for  me,  and  his  delight  on  my  arrival,  touched  me 
so  deeply  that  I  am  glad  to  take  upon  myself  the  role  of 
an  Argus,  and  be  the  saviour  of  his  life." 

But  by  coming  abroad  he  sacrificed  all  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  twins  and  his  sister  Alexandra  during  the 
summer  vacation. 

1  Short  for  Vladimir. 


ii8  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  SODEN,  June  2^th  (July  6th). 

"  We  lead  a  monotonous  existence,  and  are  dreadfully 
bored,  but  for  this  very  reason  my  health  is  first-rate. 
The  saline  baths  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good,  and,  apart 
from  them,  the  way  of  living  is  excellent.  I  am  very  lazy, 
and  have  not  the  least  desire  to  work.  A  few  days  ago 
a  great  festival  took  place  at  Mannheim,  on  the  occasion 
of  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  Beethoven's  birth.  This 
festival,  to  which  we  went,  lasted  three  days.  The  pro- 
gramme was  very  interesting,  and  the  performance  superb. 
The  orchestra  consisted  of  various  bands  from  the  different 
Rhenish  towns.  The  chorus  numbered  400.  I  have 
never  heard  such  a  fine  and  powerful  choir  in  my  life. 
The  well-known  composer,  Lachner,  conducted.  Among 
other  things  I  heard  for  the  first  time  the  difficult  Missa 
Solennis.  It  is  one  of  the  most  inspired  musical 
creations. 

"  I  have  been  to  Wiesbaden  to  see  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 
I  found  him  in  the  act  of  losing  his  last  rouble  at  roulette, 
which  did  not  prevent  our  spending  a  very  pleasant  day 
together.  He  is  quite  convinced  he  will  break  the  bank 
before  he  leaves  Wiesbaden.  I  long  to  be  with  you  all." 

The  outbreak  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war  drove  all  the 
visitors  at  Soden  into  the  neutral  territory  of  Switzerland. 
It  was  little  less  than  a  stampede,  and  Tchaikovsky  de- 
scribes their  experiences  in  a  letter  to  his  brother  Modeste, 
dated  July  I2th  (24th),  1870: — 

"  INTERLAKEN. 

"  We  have  been  here  three  days,  and  shall  probably  re- 
main a  whole  month.  .  .  .  The  crush  in  the  railway 
carriages  was  indescribable,  and  it  was  very  difficult  to  get 
anything  to  eat  and  drink.  Thank  God,  however,  here 
we  are  in  Switzerland,  where  everything  goes  on  in  its 
normal  course.  Dear  Modi,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  feel 
in  the  presence  of  these  sublime  beauties  of  Nature,  which 
no  one  can  imagine  without  beholding  them.  My  as- 
tonishment, my  admiration,  pass  all  bounds.  I  rush 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  119 

about  like  one  possessed,  and  never  feel  tired.  Volodi, 
who  takes  no  delight  in  Nature,  and  is  only  interested  in 
the  Swiss  cheeses,  laughs  heartily  at  me.  What  will  it  be 
like  a  few  days  hence,  when  I  shall  scramble  through  the 
passes  and  over  glaciers  by  myself!  I  return  to  Russia  at 
the  end  of  August." 

Tchaikovsky  spent  six  weeks  in  Switzerland,  and  then 
went  on  to  Munich,  where  he  stayed  two  days  with  his  old 
friend  Prince  Galitsin.  From  thence  he  returned  to 
St.  Petersburg  by  Vienna,  which  delighted  him  more  than 
any  other  town  in  the  world.  From  Petersburg  he  went 
direct  to  Moscow  in  order  to  take  up  his  work  at  the 
Conservatoire. 

During  the  whole  of  his  trip  abroad  Tchaikovsky,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  account,  did  no  serious  work  beyond 
revising  his  overture  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Thanks  to  the 
exertions  of  N.  Rubinstein  and  Professor  Klindworth,  the 
overture,  in  its  new  form,  was  published  in  Berlin  the 
following  season,  and  soon  found  its  way  into  the  pro- 
grammes of  many  musical  societies  in  Germany. 

"  Karl  Klindworth  came  from  London  to  Moscow  in 
1868,"  says  Laroche.  "He  was  then  thirty-eight,  and 
at  the  zenith  of  his  physical  and  artistic  powers.  He  was 
tall  and  strongly  built,  with  fair  hair  and  bright  blue  eyes. 
His  appearance  accorded  with  our  ideas  of  the  Vikings  of 
old  ;  he  was,  in  fact,  of  Norwegian  descent.  He  cordially 
detested  London,  where  he  had  lived  many  years,  although 
he  spoke  English  fluently.  London  was  at  that  time  quite 
unprepared  for  the  Wagnerian  propaganda,  and,  apart 
from  this,  life  had  neither  meaning  nor  charm  for  Klind- 
worth. As  a  pupil  of  Billow  and  Liszt,  he  had  been  de- 
voted to  the  Wagnerian  cult  from  his  youth.  He  was 
invited  by  Nicholas  Rubinstein  to  come  to  Moscow  as 
teacher  of  the  pianoforte  ;  but  he  was  not  popular,  either 
as  a  pianist,  or  in  society.  ...  It  would  seem  as  though 
there  could  be  no  common  meeting-ground  between  this 
Wagnerian  fanatic  and  Tchaikovsky.  If  one  desired  to  be 


120  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

logical,  it  would  further  appear  that,  as  a  composer,  Tchai- 
kovsky would  not  only  fail  to  interest  Klindworth,  but 
must  seem  to  him  quite  in  the  wrong,  since  Wagner  has 
written  that  concert  and  chamber  music  have  long  since 
had  their  day.  But  luckily  men  are  devoid  of  the  sense 
of  logical  sequence,  and  Klindworth  proved  a  man  of  far 
more  heart  than  one  would  have  thought  at  first  sight. 
Tchaikovsky  charmed  him  from  the  first,  not  merely  as  a 
man,  but  as  a  composer.  Klindworth  was  one  of  the  first 
to  spread  Tchaikovsky's  works  abroad.  It  was  owing  to 
him  that  they  became  known  in  London  and  New  York ; 
and  it  was  through  him  also  that  Liszt  made  acquaintance 
with  some  of  them.  In  Klindworth,  Tchaikovsky  found 
a  faithful  but  despotic  friend.  Speaking  picturesquely, 
Peter  Ilich  trembled  before  him  like  an  aspen-leaf,  did 
not  dare  openly  to  give  his  real  opinions  upon  the  com- 
poser of  the  Nibelungen  Ring,  and  I  believe  he  em- 
bellished as  far  as  possible  the  views  expressed  in  his 
articles  from  Bayreuth  in  order  not  to  irritate  Klindworth." 

While  I  am  mentioning  the  important  event  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's earliest  introduction  to  Western  Europe,  I  must 
recall  the  prophetic  words  of  a  young  critic,  then  at  the 
outset  of  his  career.  Five  years  before  the  appearance  of 
the  overture  Romeo  and  Juliet^  in  1866,  Laroche  had 
written  to  his  friend  : — 

"Your  creative  work  will  not  really  begin  for  another 
five  years ;  but  these  mature  and  classic  works  will  sur- 
pass all  that  we  have  produced  since  Glinka's  time." 

Being  no  musical  critic,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  whether, 
in  truth,  in  all  Russian  musical  literature  nothing  so  re- 
markable as  Romeo  and  Juliet  had  appeared  since  Glinka. 
I  can  only  repeat  what  has  been  said  by  many  musical 
authorities — that  my  brother's  higher  significance  in  the 
world  of  art  dates  from  this  work.  His  individuality  is 
here  displayed  for  the  first  time  in  its  fulness,  and  all  that 
he  had  hitherto  produced  seems — as  in  Laroche's  prophecy 
— to  have  been  really  preparatory  work. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  121 

VII 

1870-1871 

During  this  period  Tchaikovsky's  spirits  were,  generally 
speaking,  fairly  bright.  Only  occasionally  they  were 
damped  by  anxiety  about  the  twins,  of  whom  the  younger 
had  left  the  School  of  Jurisprudence  and  obtained  a  post 
in  Simbirsk.1  His  lack  of  experience  led  him  into  many 
blunders  and  mistakes,  which  gave  trouble  to  his  elder 
brother  Peter.  His  affection  and  over-anxiety  caused  the 
latter  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  these  small  errors 
of  judgment,  and  he  concerned  himself  greatly  about  the 
future  of  his  precious  charge. 

To  I.  A.  Klimenko. 

"  October  26th  (November  >jth\  1870. 

"...  Anton  Rubinstein  is  staying  here.  He  opened  the 
season,  playing  the  Schumann  Concerto  at  the  first  concert 
(not  very  well),  and  also  Mendelssohn's  Variations  and 
some  Schumann  Studies  (splendidly).  At  the  Quartet 
evening  he  played  in  his  own  Trio,  which  I  do  not  much 
like.  At  an  orchestral  rehearsal,  held  specially  for  him,  he 
conducted  his  new  Don  Quixote  Fantasia.  Very  in- 
teresting ;  first-rate  in  places.  Besides  this  he  has  com- 
posed a  violin  concerto  and  a  number  of  smaller  pieces. 
Extraordinary  fertility  !  Nicholas  Rubinstein  lost  all  his 
money  at  roulette  during  the  summer.  At  the  present 
moment  he  is  working,  as  usual,  with  unflagging  energy. 

"  I  have  written  three  new  pieces,2  and  a  song,3  as  well 
as  going  on  with  my  opera  and  revising  Romeo  and  Juliet" 

1  Modeste. 

2  Op.    9.      Three    pieces    for    piano— "Reverie,"    "Polka    de   Salon," 
"Mazurka." 

3  "  So  schnell  vergessen." 


122  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

(About  the  beginning  of  November?) 

"...  My  time  is  very  much  occupied.  I  have  foolishly 
undertaken  to  write  music  for  a  ballet  Cinderella,  at  a  very 
small  fee.  The  ballet  has  to  be  performed  in  December, 
and  I  have  only  just  begun  it ;  but  I  cannot  get  out  of  the 
work,  for  the  contract  is  already  signed.  Romeo  and  Juliet 
will  be  published  in  Berlin  and  performed  in  several 
German  towns.  .  .  ." 

To  his  sister ^  A.  I.  Davidov. 
"December  20//&,  1870  (January  ist,  1871). 

"  DEAREST, — Your  letter  touched  me  deeply,  and  at  the 
same  time  made  me  feel  ashamed.  I  wonder  that  you 
could  doubt,  even  for  an  instant,  the  constancy  of  my 
affection  for  you  !  My  silence  proceeds  partly  from  idle- 
ness, and  partly  from  the  fact  that  I  need  great  peace 
of  mind  to  write  satisfactorily,  and  I  hardly  ever  attain  it. 
Either  I  am  at  the  Conservatoire,  or  I  am  seizing  a  free 
hour  for  composition  in  feverish  haste,  or  someone  wants 
me  to  go  out,  or  I  have  visitors  at  home,  or  I  am  so  tired 
out  I  can  only  fall  asleep.  ...  I  have  already  told  you 
what  an  important  part  you  play  in  my  life — although  you 
do  not  live  near  me.  In  dark  hours  my  thoughts  fly  to 
you.  '  If  things  go  very  badly  with  me,  I  shall  go  to 
Sasha/  I  say  to  myself;  or,  'I  think  I  will  do  this,  I  am 
sure  Sasha  would  advise  it ' ;  or,  '  Shall  I  write  to  her  ? 
What  would  she  think  of  this  .  .  .  ? '  What  a  joy  to  think 
that  if  I  could  get  away  from  these  surroundings  into 
another  atmosphere  I  should  sun  myself  in  your  kindly 
heart !  Next  summer  I  will  not  fail  to  come  to  you.  I 
shall  not  go  abroad." 

To  his  father. 

"  February  itfh  (26*6). 

"  MY  VERY  DEAR  FATHER,— You  say  it  would  not  be  a 
bad  thing  if  I  wrote  to  you  at  least  once  a  month. 

"  No,  not  once  a  month,  but  at  least  once  a  week  I 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  123 

ought  to  send  you  news  of  all  I  am  doing,  and  I  wonder 
you  have  not  given  me  a  good  scolding  before  this !  But 
I  will  never  again  leave  you  so  long  without  a  letter.  The 
news  of  the  death  of  uncle  Peter  Petrovich 1  came  to  me 
several  days  ago.  God  give  him  everlasting  peace,  for  his 
honest  and  pure  soul  deserved  it !  I  hope,  dear,  you  are 
bearing  this  trouble  bravely.  Remember  that  poor  uncle, 
with  his  indifferent  health  and  his  many  old  wounds,  had 
enjoyed  a  fairly  long  life." 

This  letter  closes  Tchaikovsky's  correspondence  for  the 
year  1870-1.  It  is  very  probable  that  some  of  his  letters 
may  have  been  lost,  but  undoubtedly  after  February,  1871, 
he  corresponded  less  frequently  than  before. 

Being  very  short  of  funds,  he  decided  to  act  upon 
Rubinstein's  advice  to  give  a  concert.  To  add  to  the 
interest  of  the  programme  he  thought  it  well  to  include 
some  new  and  important  work  of  his  own.  He  could  not 
expect  to  fill  the  room,  and  an  expensive  orchestral  con- 
cert was  therefore  out  of  the  question.  This  led  to  the 
composition  of  the  first  String  Quartet  (D  major).  Tchai- 
kovsky was  engaged  upon  this  work  during  the  whole 
of  February. 

The  concert  took  place  on  March  i6th  (28th)  in  the 
small  hall  of  the  Nobles'  Assembly  Rooms.  Thanks  to 
the  services  of  the  Musical  Society's  quartet,  with  F.  Laub 
as  leader,  Nicholas  Rubinstein  at  the  piano,  and  Madame 
Lavrovsky  —  then  at  the  height  of  her  popularity  —  as 
vocalist,  Tchaikovsky  had  a  good,  although  not  a  crowded, 
house. 

In  his  reminiscences  Kashkin  says  that  among  those 
who  attended  this  concert  was  the  celebrated  novelist, 
I.  S.  Tourgeniev,  who  was  staying  in  Moscow  at  the  time, 
and  was  interested  in  the  young  composer,  about  whom  he 
had  heard  abroad.  This  attention  on  the  part  of  the  great 
writer  did  not  pass  unnoticed,  and  was  decidedly  advan- 

1  The  uncle  whose  establishment  the  Tchaikovskys  shared  in  1855. 


124  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

tageous  for  the  musician.  Tourgeniev  expressed  great 
appreciation  of  Tchaikovsky's  works,  although  he  arrived 
too  late  to  hear  the  chief  item  on  the  programme,  the 
Quartet  in  D  major. 

At  the  end  of  May  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Konotop, 
where  his  eldest  brother  Nicholas  Ilich  was  residing,  and 
from  thence  to  visit  Anatol  in  Kiev.  Afterwards  the  two 
brothers  travelled  to  Kamenka,  where  they  spent  most 
of  the  summer.  Tchaikovsky,  however,  devoted  part  of 
his  holidays  to  his  intimate  friends  Kondratiev  and  Shil- 
ovsky. 

Kondratiev's  property  (the  village  of  Nizy,  in  the  Govern- 
ment of  Kharkov)  was  beautifully  situated  on  the  prettiest 
river  of  Little  Russia,  the  Psiol,  and  united  all  the  natural 
charms  of  South  Russia  with  the  light  green  colouring 
of  the  northern  landscape  so  dear  to  Tchaikovsky.  Here 
in  the  hottest  weather,  instead  of  the  oppressive  and 
parched  surroundings  of  Kamenka,  he  looked  upon  luxu- 
riant pastures,  enclosed  and  shaded  by  ancient  oaks.  But 
what  delighted  him  most  was  the  river  Psiol  with  its 
refreshing  crystal  waters. 

The  place  pleased  Tchaikovsky,  but  his  friend's  style 
of  living  was  not  to  his  taste.  It  was  too  much  like  town 
life,  with  its  guests  and  festivities,  and  he  preferred  Shil- 
ovsky's  home  at  Ussovo,  which  was  not  so  beautifully 
situated,  but  possessed  the  greater  charms  of  simplicity, 
solitude,  and  quiet.  Here  he  spent  the  last  days  of  his 
vacation  very  happily,  and  for  many  years  to  come  Ussovo 
was  his  ideal  of  a  summer  residence,  for  which  he  longed 
as  soon  as  the  trees  and  fields  began  to  show  the  first 
signs  of  green. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  125 

VIII 

1871-1872 

As  I  have  already  remarked,  it  was  not  Tchaikovsky's 
nature  to  force  the  circumstances  of  life  to  his  own  will. 
He  could  wait  long  and  patiently — and  hope  still  longer. 
As  in  his  early  youth  he  had  kept  his  yearning  for  music 
hidden  in  his  heart,  until  the  strength  of  his  desire  was 
such  that  nothing  could  shake  his  firm  hold  upon  his 
chosen  vocation,  so  now,  from  the  beginning  of  his  musical 
career,  he  was  possessed  by  an  intense  longing  to  break 
away  from  all  ties  which  withheld  him  from  the  chief  aim 
of  his  existence — to  compose. 

Just  as  a  few  years  earlier  he  continued  his  work  in 
the  Ministry  of  Justice  in  spite  of  its  monotony,  and  kept 
up  his  social  ties  as  though  he  were  waiting  until  a  com- 
plete disgust  for  his  empty  and  aimless  life  should  bring 
about  a  revulsion,  so  it  was  with  him  now.  Although  his 
duties  at  the  Conservatoire  were  repugnant  to  him,  and  he 
often  complained  of  the  drawbacks  of  town  life,  which 
interfered  with  his  creative  work,  he  went  on  in  his  usual 
course,  as  though  afraid  that  his  need  of  excitement  and 
pleasure  was  not  quite  satisfied,  and  might  break  out 
anew. 

The  time  for  the  realisation  of  his  dream  of  complete 
freedom  was  not  yet  come.  Moscow  was  still  necessary 
to  his  everyday  life,  and  was  not  altogether  unpleasant  to 
him.  He  was  still  dependent  on  his  surroundings.  To 
break  with  them  involved  many  considerations.  Above 
all,  he  must  have  emancipated  himself,  although  in  a 
friendly  way,  from  the  influence  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 
This  was  the  first  step  to  take  in  the  direction  of  liberty. 
With  all  his  affection  and  gratitude,  with  all  his  respect 


126  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

for  Rubinstein  as  a  man  and  an  artist,  he  suffered  a  good 
deal  under  the  despotism  of  this  truest  and  kindest  of 
friends.  From  morning  till  night  he  had  to  conform  to 
his  will  in  all  the  trifling  details  of  daily  existence,  and 
this  was  the  more  unbearable  because  their  ideas  with 
regard  to  hours  and  occupations  differed  in  most  respects. 

Tchaikovsky  had  already  made  two  attempts  to  leave 
Rubinstein  and  take  rooms  of  his  own.  But  only  now 
was  he  able  to  carry  out  his  wish.  Nicholas  Rubinstein 
absolutely  stood  in  need  of  companionship,  and  Tchaikov- 
sky was  fortunate  in  finding  someone,  in  the  person  of 
N.  A.  Hubert,  ready  and  willing  to  take  his  place. 

So  it  chanced  that  Tchaikovsky  reached  his  thirty- 
second  year  before  he  began  to  lead  an  entirely  indepen- 
dent existence.  His  delight  at  finding  himself  the  sole 
master  of  his  little  flat  of  three  rooms  was  indescribable. 
He  took  the  greatest  pains  to  make  his  new  home  as 
comfortable  as  possible  with  the  small  means  at  his 
disposal.  His  decorations  were  not  sumptuous  :  a  portrait 
of  Anton  Rubinstein,  given  to  him  by  the  painter  Madame 
Bonne  in  1865  ;  a  picture  of  Louis  XVII.  in  the  house  of 
the  shoemaker  Simon,  given  to  him  by  Begichev  in  Paris ; 
a  large  sofa  and  a  few  cheap  chairs,  comprised  the  com- 
poser's entire  worldly  goods. 

He  now  engaged  a  servant,  named  Michael  Sofronov. 
Tchaikovsky  never  lost  sight  of  this  man,  although  he 
was  afterwards  replaced  by  his  brother  Alexis,  who  played 
rather  an  important  part  in  his  master's  life. 

At  this  time  the  composer's  income  was  slightly  in- 
creased. His  salary  at  the  Conservatoire  rose  to  1,500 
roubles  a  year  (£150),  while  from  the  sale  of  his  works, 
and  from  the  Russian  Musical  Society,1  he  received  about 
500  roubles  more. 

Besides  these  2,000  roubles,  Tchaikovsky  had  another 

1  At  the  instigation  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  the  Musical  Society  paid  the 
composers  about  200  to  300  roubles  for  new  works  performed  at  their 
Symphony  Concerts. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  127 

small  source  of  income,  namely,  his  earnings  as  a  musical 
critic.  His  employment  in  this  capacity  came  about  thus. 
In  1871,  Laroche,  who  wrote  for  the  Moscow  Viedomosti, 
was  offered  a  post  at  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatoire,  and 
passed  on  his  journalistic  work  to  N.  A.  Hubert,  who, 
partly  from  ill-health  and  partly  from  indolence,  neglected 
the  duties  he  had  undertaken.  Fearing  that  Katkov,  who 
edited  the  paper,  might  appoint  some  amateur  as  critic, 
and  so  undo  the  progress  in  musical  matters  which  had 
been  made  during  the  past  years,  Tchaikovsky  and 
Kashkin  came  to  Hubert's  aid  and  "  devilled  "  for  him  as 
long  as  he  remained  on  the  staff.  Tchaikovsky  continued 
to  write  for  the  Viedomosti  until  the  winter  of  1 876. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"December  2nd  (i^th). 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  at  Shilovsky's  urgent  desire  I  am 
going  abroad  for  a  month.  I  shall  start  in  about  ten  days' 
time,  but  no  one — except  Rubinstein — is  to  know  anything 
about  it ;  everyone  is  to  think  I  have  gone  to  see  our 
sister." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

" :NiCE,  January  ist  (13^),  1872. 

"  I  have  been  a  week  at  Nice.  It  is  most  curious  to 
come  straight  from  the  depths  of  a  Russian  winter  to  a 
climate  where  one  can  walk  out  without  an  overcoat, 
where  orange  trees,  roses,  and  syringas  are  in  full  bloom, 
and  the  trees  are  in  leaf.  Nice  is  lovely.  But  the 
gay  life  is  killing.  .  .  .  However,  I  have  many  pleasant 
hours ;  those,  for  instance,  in  the  early  morning,  when  I 
sit  alone  by  the  sea  in  the  glowing — but  not  scorching — 
sunshine.  But  even  these  moments  are  not  without  a 
shade  of  melancholy.  What  comes  of  it  all?  I  am  old, 
and  can  enjoy  nothing  more.  I  live  on  my  memories  and 
my  hopes.  But  what  is  there  to  hope  for  ? 

"  Yet  without  hope  in  the  future  life  is  impossible.  So 
I  dream  of  coming  to  Kiev  at  Easter,  and  of  spending 
part  of  the  summer  with  you  at  Kamenka." 


128  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

By  the  end  of  January  Tchaikovsky  was  back  in  Moscow. 

In  1871  a  great  Polytechnic  Exhibition  was  organised 
in  this  town  in  celebration  of  the  two  hundredth  anniver- 
sary of  the  birth  of  Peter  the  Great.  The  direction  of 
the  musical  section  was  confided  to  Nicholas  Rubinstein, 
but  when  he  resigned,  because  his  scheme  was  too  costly 
to  be  sanctioned  by  the  committee,  the  celebrated  'cellist, 
K.  Davidov,  was  invited  to  take  his  place.  He  accepted, 
and  named  Laroche  and  Balakirev  as  his  coadjutors. 
Balakirev  was  not  immediately  disposed  to  undertake 
these  duties,  saying  that  he  would  first  like  to  hear  the 
opinion  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein  as  to  the  part  which  the 
Petersburg  musicians  were  to  take  in  the  matter.  After 
two  months  of  uncertainty,  the  committee  decided  to 
dispense  with  his  reply,  and  invited  Rimsky-Korsakov 
to  take  his  place.  At  the  same  time  Asantchevsky  (then 
Director  of  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire),  Wurm,  and 
Leschetitzky  were  added  to  the  musical  committee. 

This  originally  Muscovite  committee,  which  ended  in 
being  made  up  of  Petersburgers,  decided  among  other 
projects  to  commission  from  Tchaikovsky  a  Festival  Can- 
tata, the  text  of  which  was  to  be  specially  written  for  the 
occasion  by  the  poet  Polonsky. 

By  the  end  of  December,  or  the  beginning  of  January, 
the  libretto  was  finished.  When  Tchaikovsky  undertook 
to  do  any  work  within  a  fixed  limit  of  time,  he  always 
tried  to  complete  it  before  the  date  of  contract  expired. 
On  this  occasion  he  was  well  beforehand  with  the  work, 
and  sent  in  the  cantata  to  the  committee  by  the  1st  of 
April.  As  he  had  only  received  the  words  towards  the 
end  of  January,  after  his  return  from  Nice,  he  could  not 
have  had  more  than  two  months  in  which  to  complete 
this  lengthy  and  complicated  score. 

In  April  he  was  at  work  again  upon  The  Oprichniky  and 
must  have  finished  it  early  in  May. 

This,  however,  is  a  matter  of  conjecture,  as   between 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  129 

January  3 1st  (February  I2th)  and  May  4th  (i6th),  there 
does  not  exist  a  single  one  of  his  letters. 

On  May  4th  (i6th),  1872,  the  score  of  The  Oprichnik 
was  sent  to  Napravnik  in  Petersburg. 

The  Festival  Cantata  was  performed  on  May  3ist 
(June  1 2th)  at  the  opening  of  the  Polytechnic  Exhibition, 
and  shortly  afterwards  Tchaikovsky  left  Moscow  for 
Kamenka,  where  he  spent  the  whole  of  June.  Here  he 
began  his  Second  Symphony  in  C  minor.  Early  in  July 
he  went  to  Kiev,  and  from  thence  to  Kondratiev  at  Nizy, 
accompanied  by  his  brother  Modeste.  A  part  of  this 
journey  had  to  be  accomplished  by  diligence.  On  the 
return  journey  the  two  brothers  were  to  travel  together 
as  far  as  Voroshba,  where  Peter  Ilich  branched  off  for 
Shilovsky's  house  at  Ussovo,  and  Modeste  went  on  to 
Kiev.  Between  Sumy  and  Voroshba  was  a  post-house,  at 
which  the  horses  were  generally  changed. 

We  were  in  the  best  of  spirits — it  is  Modeste  who 
recounts  the  adventure — and  partook  of  a  luxurious 
lunch,  with  wine  and  liqueurs.  These  stimulants  had  a 
considerable  effect  upon  our  empty  stomachs,  so  that  when 
we  were  informed  of  the  fact  that  there  were  no  fresh 
post-horses  at  our  disposal,  we  lost  our  tempers  and  gave 
the  overseer  a  good  talking  to.  Peter  Ilich  quite  lost 
his  head,  and  could  not  avoid  using  the  customary  phrase : 
"  Are  you  aware  to  whom  you  are  talking  ?  "  The  post- 
master was  not  in  the  least  impressed  by  this  worn-out 
phraseology,  and  Peter  Ilich,  beside  himself  with  wrath, 
demanded  the  report-book.  It  was  brought,  and  thinking 
that  the  unknown  name  of  Tchaikovsky  would  carry  no 
weight,  Peter  Ilich  signed  his  complaint :  "  Prince  Vol- 
konsky,  Page-in-Waiting."  The  result  was  brilliant.  In 
less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  horses  were  harnessed, 
and  the  head-ostler  had  been  severely  reprimanded  for  not 
having  told  the  post-master  that  a  pair  had  unexpectedly 
returned  from  a  journey. 


130  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Arrived  at  Voroshba,  Peter  Ilich  hurried  to  the  ticket- 
office  and  discovered  with  horror  that  he  had  left  his 
pocket-book,  containing  all  his  money  and  papers,  at  the 
post-station.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  could  not  catch 
the  train,  and  must  therefore  wait  till  the  next  day.  This 
was  tiresome ;  but  far  worse  was  the  thought  that  the 
post-master  had  only  to  look  inside  the  pocket-book  to  see 
Peter  Ilich's  real  name  on  his  passport  and  visiting-cards. 
While  we  sat  there,  feeling  crushed,  and  debating  what  was 
to  be  done,  my  train  came  in.  I  was  forced  to  steam  off 
to  Kiev,  after  bestowing  the  greater  part  of  my  available 
cash — some  five  or  six  roubles — upon  the  unhappy  pseudo- 
Prince. 

Poor  Peter  Ilich  spent  a  terrible  night  at  the  inn. 
Mice  and  rats — of  which  he  had  a  mortal  terror — left  him 
no  peace.  He  waged  war  all  night  with  these  pests,  which 
ran  over  his  bed  and  made  a  hideous  noise.  The  next 
morning  came  the  news  that  the  post-master  would  not 
entrust  the  pocket-book  to  the  driver  of  the  post-waggon  ; 
Peter  Ilich  must  go  back  for  it  himself.  This  was  a  worse 
ordeal  than  even  the  rats  and  the  sleepless  night.  ...  As 
soon  as  he  arrived  he  saw  at  once  that  the  post-master 
had  never  opened  the  pocket-book,  for  his  manner  was  as 
respectful  and  apologetic  as  before.  Peter  Ilich  was  so 
pleased  with  this  man's  strict  sense  of  honour  that  before 
leaving  he  inquired  his  name.  Great  was  his  astonishment 
when  the  post-master  replied,  "  Tchaikovsky  "  !  At  first  he 
thought  he  was  the  victim  of  a  joke,  but  afterwards  he 
heard  from  his  friend  Kondratiev  that  the  man's  name  was 
actually  the  same  as  his  own. 

Tchaikovsky  spent  the  rest  of  the  summer  at  Ussovo, 
where  he  completed  the  symphony  commenced  at  Ka- 
menka. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  131 

IX 

1872-1873 

Immediately  after  his  return  to  Moscow,  Tchaikovsky 
moved  into  new  quarters,  which  were  far  more  comfort- 
able than  his  first  habitation. 

We  have  already  seen  the  motives  which  first  induced 
him  to  take  up  journalism.  Now  he  felt  it  not  only  a 
matter  of  honour  and  duty  towards  the  interests  of  the 
Conservatoire  to  continue  this  work,  but  found  it  also  a 
welcome  means  of  adding  to  his  income,  seeing  that  he 
lived  entirely  upon  his  own  resources.  His  literary  efforts 
had  been  very  successful  during  the  past  year,  and  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  all  who  were  interested  in  music. 
Nevertheless  his  journalistic  work,  like  his  lessons  at  the 
Conservatoire,  was  burdensome.  He  told  himself  "  it  must 
be  done,"  and  did  it  with  the  capability  that  was  character- 
istic of  him,  but  without  a  gleam  of  enthusiasm  or  liking 
for  the  work.  His  writing  was  interesting  and  showed  con- 
siderable literary  style  ;  the  general  character  of  his  articles 
bespoke  the  cultivated  and  serious  musician,  who  is  dis- 
interested and  just,  and  has  a  complete  insight  into  his  art 
— but  nothing  more.  We  cannot  describe  him  as  a  preacher 
of  profound  convictions,  who  has  power  to  carry  home  his 
ideas ;  or  as  a  critic  capable  of  describing  a  work,  or  a 
composer,  in  a  few  delicate  or  striking  words.  Reading  his 
articles,  we  seem  to  be  conversing  with  a  clever  and  gifted 
man,  who  knows  how  to  express  himself  clearly ;  we  sym- 
pathise with  him,  earnestly  wish  him  success  in  his  cam- 
paign against  ignorance  and  charlatanism,  and  share  his 
desire  for  the  victory  of  wholesome  art  over  the  public 
taste  for  "  the  Italians,"  "  American  valses,"  and  the  rest. 
In  these  respects  we  may  say  that  Tchaikovsky's  labours 
were  not  lost. 


132  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Moscow,  November  2nd 

"  Modi,  my  conscience  pricks  me.  This  is  the  punish- 
ment for  not  having  written  to  you  for  so  long.  What  can 
I  do  when  the  symphony,  which  is  nearing  completion, 
occupies  me  so  entirely  that  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  ? 
This  work  of  genius  (as  Kondratiev  calls  it)  will  be  per- 
formed as  soon  as  I  can  get  the  parts  copied.  It  seems  to 
me  to  be  my  best  work,  at  least  as  regards  correctness  of 
form,  a  quality  for  which  I  have  not  so  far  distinguished 
myself.  .  .  .  My  quartet  has  created  a  sensation  in  Peters- 
burg." 

To  I.  A.  Klimenko. 

"Moscow,  November  \$th  (27^). 

".  .  .  Since  last  year  nothing  particular  has  happened  in 
our  lives  here.  We  go  to  the  Conservatoire  as  formerly, 
and  occasionally  meet  for  a  general  '  boose/  and  are  just 
as  much  bored  as  last  year.  Boredom  consumes  us  all, 
and  the  reason  is  that  we  are  growing  old.  Yes,  it  is  use- 
less to  conceal  that  every  moment  brings  us  nearer  to  the 
grave.  ... 

"  As  regards  myself,  I  must  honestly  confess  that  I  have 
but  one  interest  in  life  :  my  success  as  a  composer.  But  it 
is  impossible  to  say  that  I  am  much  spoilt  in  this  respect. 
For  instance,  two  composers,  Famitzin  and  myself,  send 
in  our  works  at  the  same  time.  Famitzin  is  universally 
regarded  as  devoid  of  talent,  while  I,  on  the  contrary,  am 
said  to  be  highly  gifted.  Nevertheless,  Sardanapalus  is  to 
be  given  almost  immediately,  whereas  so  far  nothing  has 
been  settled  as  to  the  fate  of  The  Oprichnik.  This  looks 
as  though  it  were  going  to  fall  '  into  the  water ' *  like 
Undine.  For  a-n  Undine  to  fall  into  the  water  is  not  so 
disastrous ;  it  is  her  element.  But  imagine  a  drowning 
Oprichnik,  how  he  would  battle  with  the  waves !  He 
would  certainly  perish.  But  if  I  went  to  his  rescue  I  should 
be  drowned  too ;  therefore  I  have  taken  my  oath  never  to 
dip  pen  in  ink  again  if  my  Oprichnik  is  refused." 

1  Russian  equivalent  for  "falling  through." 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1873 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  133 

To  Ilia  Petrovich  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  22nd  (December  $tti). 

"  MY  DEAR,  GOOD  FATHER, — .  .  .  As  regards  marriage, 
I  must  confess  that  I  have  often  thought  of  finding  myself 
a  suitable  wife,  but  I  am  afraid  I  might  afterwards  regret 
doing  so.  I  earn  almost  enough  (3,000  roubles  a  year),  but 
I  know  so  little  about  the  management  of  money  that  I  am 
always  in  debt  and  dilemma.  So  long  as  a  man  is  alone, 
this  does  not  much  signify.  But  how  would  it  be  if  I  had 
to  keep  a  wife  and  family  ? 

"  My  health  is  good  :  only  one  thing  troubles  me  a  little 
— my  eyesight,  which  is  tried  by  my  work.  It  is  so  much 
weaker  than  formerly  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  get 
a  pair  of  eyeglasses,  which  I  am  told  are  very  becoming 
to  me.  My  nerves  are  poor,  but  this  cannot  be  helped, 
and  is  not  of  much  consequence.  Whose  nerves  are  not 
disordered  in  our  generation — especially  among  artists  ?  " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

" December  loth  (22nd}. 

"You  say  that  Anatol  has  told  you  about  my  depression. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  depression,  only  now  and  then 
a  kind  of  misanthropical  feeling  comes  over  me  which  has 
often  happened  before.  It  comes  partly  from  my  nerves, 
which  sometimes  get  out  of  gear  for  no  particular  reason, 
and  partly  from  the  rather  uncertain  fate  of  my  com- 
positions. The  symphony,  on  which  I  build  great  hopes, 
will  not  be  performed  apparently  before  the  middle  of 
January,  at  the  earliest. 

"  Christine  Nilsson  is  having  a  great  triumph  here.  I 
have  seen  her  twice,  and  I  must  own  she  has  made  great 
progress  as  an  actress  since  I  heard  her  for  the  first  time 
in  Paris.  As  regards  singing,  Nilsson  stands  alone.  When 
she  opens  her  mouth  one  does  not  hear  anything  remark- 
able at  first ;  then  suddenly  she  takes  a  high  C,  or  holds 
a  sustained  note  pianissimo,  and  the  whole  house  thunders 
its  applause.  But  with  all  her  good  qualities  she  does  not 
please  me  nearly  so  well  as  Artot.  If  the  latter  would 
only  return  to  Moscow  I  should  jump  for  joy." 


134  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

During  the  Christmas  holidays  Tchaikovsky  was  called 
unexpectedly  to  St.  Petersburg  to  hear  the  verdict  of  the 
committee  upon  his  opera,  The  Oprichnik.  The  com- 
mittee consisted  of  the  various  Capellmeisters  of  the 
Imperial  Theatre  and  Opera :  Napravnik  (Russian  opera), 
Bevignani  (Italian  opera),  Rybassov  (Russian  plays), 
Silvain  Mangen  (French  plays),  Ed.  Betz  (German  plays), 
and  Babkov  (ballet).  With  the  exception  of  Napravnik, 
Tchaikovsky  had  no  great  opinion  of  these  men,  and 
considered  them  much  inferior  to  himself  as  judges  of 
music.  It  seemed  to  him  particularly  derogatory  to  have 
to  appear  before  this  Areopagus  in  person.  He  did  his 
best  to  avoid  this  formality,  but  in  vain. 

The  meeting  which  he  dreaded  so  much  passed  off  quite 
satisfactorily.  The  Oprichnik  was  unanimously  accepted. 

During  this  visit  to  St.  Petersburg  Tchaikovsky  was 
frequently  in  the  society  of  his  friends  of  the  "  Invincible 
Band  "  ;  and  it  was  evidently  under  their  influence  that  he 
took  a  Little  Russian  folksong  as  the  subject  of  the  Finale 
of  the  Second  Symphony.  "  At  an  evening  at  the  Rimsky- 
Korsakovs  the  whole  party  nearly  tore  me  to  pieces,"  he 
wrote,  "  and  Madame  Korsakov  implored  me  to  arrange 
the  Finale  for  four  hands."  On  this  same  occasion  Tchai- 
kovsky begged  Vladimir  Stassov  to  suggest  a  subject  for 
a  symphonic  fantasia.  A  week  had  hardly  passed  before 
Stassov  wrote  the  following  letter : — 

"Sx.  PETERSBURG, 
"  December  30^,  1872  (January  ntft,  1873). 

"  DEAR  PETER  ILICH, — An  hour  after  we  had  parted  at 
the  Rimsky-Korsakovs' — that  is  to  say,  the  moment  I  was 
alone  and  could  collect  my  thoughts — I  hit  upon  the  right 
subject  for  you.  I  have  not  written  the  last  three  days 
because  I  had  not  absolutely  made  up  my  mind.  Now 
listen,  please,  to  my  suggestion.  I  have  not  only  thought 
of  one  suitable  subject — I  have  three.  I  began  by  looking 
at  Shakespeare,  because  you  said  you  would  prefer  a 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  135 

Shakesperean  theme.  Here  I  came  at  once  upon  the  poet- 
ical Tempest,  so  well  adapted  for  musical  illustration,  upon 
which  Berlioz  has  already  drawn  for  his  fine  choruses  in 
Lelio.  To  my  mind  you  might  write  a  splendid  over- 
ture on  this  subject.  Every  element  of  it  is  so  full  of 
poetry,  so  grateful.  First  the  Ocean,  the  Desert  Island, 
the  striking  and  rugged  figure  of  the  enchanter  Prospero, 
and,  in  contrast,  the  incarnation  of  womanly  grace — 
Miranda,  like  an  Eve  who  has  not  as  yet  looked  upon  any 
man  (save  Prospero),  and  who  is  charmed  and  fascinated 
by  the  first  glimpse  of  the  handsome  youth  Ferdinand, 
thrown  ashore  during  the  tempest.  They  fall  in  love  with 
each  other;  and  here  I  think  you  have  the  material  for 
a  wonderfully  poetical  picture.  In  the  first  half  of  the 
overture  Miranda  awakens  gradually  from  her  childish 
innocence  to  a  maidenly  love ;  in  the  second  half,  both 
she  and  Ferdinand  have  passed  through  '  the  fires  of  pas- 
sion ' — it  is  a  fine  subject.  Around  these  leading  characters 
others  might  be  grouped  (in  the  middle  section  of  the 
work) :  the  monstrous  Caliban,  the  sprite  Ariel,  with  his 
elfin  chorus.  The  close  of  the  overture  should  describe 
how  Prospero  renounces  his  spells,  blesses  the  lovers,  and 
returns  to  his  country." 

Besides  The  Tempest  Stassov  suggested  two  alternative 
subjects — Scott's  Ivanhoe  and  Gogol's  Tarass  Boulba. 
Tchaikovsky,  however,  decided  upon  the  Shakespearean 
subject,  and  after  informing  Stassov  of  his  decision, 
received  the  following  letter : — 

"Sx.  PETERSBURG, 
"January  2ist  (February  2tid\  1873. 

"  I  now  hasten  to  go  into  further  details,  and  rejoice  in 
the  prospect  of  your  work,  which  should  prove  a  worthy 
pendant  to  your  Romeo  and  Juliet.  You  ask  whether  it  is 
necessary  to  introduce  the  tempest  itself.  Most  certainly. 
Undoubtedly,  most  undoubtedly.  Without  it  the  overture 
would  cease  to  be  an  overture ;  without  it  the  entire  pro- 
gramme would  fall  through. 

"  I  have  carefully  weighed  every  incident,  with  all  their 
pros  and  cons,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  upset  the  whole 


136  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

business.  I  think  the  sea  should  be  depicted  twice — at 
the  opening  and  close  of  the  work.  In  the  introduction 
I  picture  it  to  myself  as  calm,  until  Prospero  works  his 
spell  and  the  storm  begins.  But  I  think  this  storm  should 
be  different  from  all  others,  in  that  it  breaks  out  at  once 
in  all  its  fury,  and  does  not,  as  generally  happens,  work  it- 
self up  to  a  climax  by  degrees.  I  suggest  this  original 
treatment  because  this  particular  tempest  is  brought  about 
by  enchantment  and  not,  as  in  most  operas,  oratorios,  and 
symphonies,  by  natural  agencies.  When  the  storm  has 
abated,  when  its  roaring,  screeching,  booming  and  raging 
have  subsided,  the  Enchanted  Island  appears  in  all  its 
beauty  and,  still  more  lovely,  the  maiden  Miranda,  who 
flits  like  a  sunbeam  over  the  island.  Her  conversation 
with  Prospero,  and  immediately  afterwards  with  Ferdinand, 
who  fascinates  her,  and  with  whom  she  falls  in  love.  The 
love  theme  (crescendo)  must  resemble  the  expanding  and 
blooming  of  a  flower ;  Shakespeare  has  thus  depicted  her 
at  the  close  of  the  first  act,  and  I  think  this  would  be 
something  well  suited  to  your  muse.  Then  I  would  sug- 
gest the  appearance  of  Caliban,  the  half-animal  slave ; 
and  then  Ariel,  whose  motto  you  may  find  in  Shake- 
speare's lyric  (at  the  end  of  the  first  act), '  Come  unto  these 
yellow  sands.'  After  Ariel,  Ferdinand  and  Miranda  should 
reappear ;  this  time  in  a  phase  of  glowing  passion.  Then 
the  imposing  figure  of  Prospero,  who  relinquishes  his 
magic  arts  and  takes  farewell  of  his  past ;  and  finally  the 
sea,  calm  and  peaceful,  which  washes  the  shores  of  the 
desert  island,  while  the  happy  inhabitants  are  borne  away 
in  a  ship  to  distant  Italy. 

"  As  I  have  planned  all  this  in  the  order  described,  it 
seems  to  me  impossible  to  leave  out  the  sea  in  the  opening 
and  close  of  the  work,  and  to  call  the  overture  "  Miranda." 
In  your  first  overture  you  have  unfortunately  omitted  all 
reference  to  Juliet's  nurse,  that  inspired  Shakespearean 
creation,  and  also  the  picture  of  dawn,  on  which  the  love- 
scene  is  built  up.  Your  overture  is  beautiful,  but  it  might 
have  been  still  more  so.  And  now,  please  note  that  I 
want  your  new  work  to  be  wider,  deeper,  more  mature. 
That  it  will  have  beauty  and  passion,  I  think  I  am  safe  in 
predicting.  So  I  wish  you  all  luck  and — vogue  la  galere  !  " 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  137 

To  V.  Stassov. 
"January  27 th  (February  8M),  1873. 

"  HONOURED  VLADIMIR  VASSILIEVICH, — I  scarcely 
know  how  to  thank  you  for  your  excellent,  and  at  the  same 
time  most  attractive,  programme.  Whether  I  shall  be  suc- 
cessful I  cannot  say,  but  in  any  case  I  intend  to  carry  out 
every  detail  of  your  plan.  I  must  warn  you,  however,  that 
my  overture  will  not  see  the  light  for  some  time  to  come : 
at  least,  I  have  no  intention  of  hurrying  over  it.  A  number 
of  tiresome,  prosaic  occupations,  among  them  the  piano- 
forte arrangement  of  my  opera,  will,  in  the  immediate 
future,  take  up  the  quiet  time  I  should  need  for  so  delicate 
a  work.  The  subject  of  The  Tempest  is  so  poetical,  its 
programme  demands  such  perfection  and  beauty  of  work- 
manship, that  I  am  resolved  to  suppress  my  impatience 
and  await  a  more  favourable  moment  for  its  commence- 
ment. 

"  My  symphony  was  performed  yesterday,  and  met  with 
great  success ;  so  great  in  fact  that  N.  Rubinstein  is  re- 
peating it  at  the  tenth  concert  '  by  general  request.'  To 
confess  the  truth,  I  am  not  altogether  satisfied  with  the 
first  two  movements,  but  the  finale  on  The  Crane1  theme 
has  turned  out  admirably.  I  will  speak  to  Rubinstein 
about  sending  the  score ;  I  must  find  out  the  date  of  the 
tenth  concert.  I  should  like  to  make  a  few  improvements 
in  the  orchestration,  and  I  must  consider  how  long  this  will 
take,  and  whether  it  will  be  better  to  send  the  score  to 
Nadejda  Nicholaevna,2  or  to  wait  until  after  the  concert. 

"  Laroche  paid  me  the  compliment  of  coming  to  Moscow 
on  purpose  to  hear  my  symphony.  He  left  to-day." 

The  Second  Symphony  appeared  in  the  programme  of 
the  Musical  Society's  concert  of  January  6th  (i8th),  1873, 
and  was  very  well  received.  Laroche  spoke  very  appreci- 
atively of  the  new  work. 

1  A  Little  Russian  folksong. 

2  Madame   Rimsky-Korsakov,   who   was  going   to   make  the   pianoforte 
arrangement  of  the  symphony  for  four  hands. 


138  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

The  symphony  was  repeated  at  the  tenth  concert,  when 
the  composer  was  recalled  after  each  movement  and  pre- 
sented with  a  laurel-wreath  and  a  silver  goblet. 

To  his  father,  I.  P.  Tchaikovsky. 

"February  5^(17^). 

"  Time  flies,  for  I  am  very  busy.  I  am  working  at  the 
pianoforte  arrangement  of  my  opera  (The  Oprichnik), 
writing  musical  articles,  and  contributing  a  biography  of 
Beethoven  to  The  Grajdanin.1  I  spend  all  my  evenings  at 
home,  and  lead  the  life  of  a  peaceable  and  well-disposed 
citizen  of  Moscow.  At  last  a  very  cold  winter  has  set  in. 
To-day  the  frost  is  so  intense  that  the  noses  of  the  Musco- 
vites risk  becoming  swollen  and  frost-bitten.  But  as  I  keep 
indoors,  I  am  very  snug  and  warm  in  my  rooms." 

To  the  same. 

« April  l*h(\$th). 

"  For  nearly  a  whole  month  have  I  been  sitting  diligently 
at  work.  I  am  writing  music  to  Ostrovsky's  fairy  tale, 
Sniegourotchka  (*  Little  Snow  White '),  and  consequently 
my  correspondence  has  been  somewhat  neglected.  In 
addition  to  this,  I  cut  my  hand  so  severely  the  day  before 
yesterday  that  it  was  two  hours  before  the  doctor  could 
stop  the  bleeding  and  apply  a  bandage.  Consequently  I 
can  only  write  with  difficulty,  so  do  not  be  surprised,  my 
angel,  at  my  writing  so  seldom." 

To  the  same. 

"May  ztfh  (June  5^). 

"  I  have  been  feverishly  busy  lately  with  the  preparations 
for  the  first  performance  of  Sniegourotchka,  the  pianoforte 
arrangement  of  my  symphony,  the  examinations  at  the 
Conservatoire,  the  reception  of  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine  Nicholaevich,  etc.  The  latter  was  enthusiastic 
over  my  symphony,  and  paid  me  many  compliments." 

1  Only  the  opening  chapters  of  this  work  appeared. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  139 

I  have  already  said  that  life  was  precious  to  Tchaikovsky. 
This  was  noticeable  in  many  ways,  among  others  his 
passion  for  keeping  a  diary.  Every  day  had  its  great 
value  for  him,  and  the  thought  that  he  must  bid  eternal 
farewell  to  it,  and  lose  all  trace  of  its  experiences,  depressed 
him  exceedingly.  It  was  a  consolation  to  save  something 
from  the  limbo  of  forgetfulness,  so  that  in  time  to  come  he 
might  recall  to  mind  the  events  through  which  he  had 
lived.  In  old  age  he  believed  it  would  be  a  great  plea- 
sure to  reconstruct  the  joys  of  the  past  from  these  short 
sketches  and  fragmentary  jottings  which  no  one  else  would 
be  able  to  understand.  He  preferred  the  system  of  brief 
and  imperfect  notes,  because  in  reading  through  the  diaries 
of  his  childhood  and  youth,  in  which  he  had  gone  more 
fully  into  his  thoughts  and  emotions,  he  had  felt  somewhat 
ashamed.  The  sentiments  and  ideas  which  he  found  so 
interesting,  and  which  once  seemed  to  him  so  great  and 
important,  now  appeared  empty,  unmeaning  and  ridiculous, 
and  he  resolved  in  future  only  to  commit  facts  to  paper, 
without  any  commentary.1  Disillusioned  by  their  contents, 
he  destroyed  all  his  early  diaries.  About  the  close  of  the 
seventies  Tchaikovsky  started  a  new  diary,  which  he  kept 
for  about  ten  years.  He  never  showed  it  to  anyone,  and  I 
had  to  give  him  my  word  of  honour  to  burn  it  after  his 
death.  After  all,  he  did  so  himself,  and  only  spared  what 
might  be  seen  by  strangers. 

His  first  attempt  at  a  diary  dates  from  1873.  He  began 
it  in  expectation  of  many  impressions  during  his  tour 
abroad,  the  very  day  he  left  Nizy. 

1  Many  of  the  entries  in  Tchaikovsky's  diaries  are  so  devoid  of  character- 
istic interest  that  I  have  thought  fit  to  curtail  the  number  of  quotations  in 
this  volume,  selecting  only  those  which  had  some  reference  to  his  work  or  his 
views  of  life. — R.  N. 


1 4o 


LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 


Extracts  from  the  diary  kept  during  the  summer 
0/1873- 


\\th 


1873. 


"  Yesterday,  on  the  road  from  Voroshba  to  Kiev,  music 
came  singing  and  echoing  through  my  head  after  a  long 
interval  of  silence.  A  theme  in  embryo,  in  B  major,  took 
possession  of  my  mind  and  almost  led  me  on  to  attempt  a 
symphony.  Suddenly  the  thought  came  over  me  to  cast 
aside  Stassov's  not  too  successful  Tempest  and  devote  the 
summer  to  composing  a  symphony  which  should  throw 
all  my  previous  works  into  the  shade.  Here  is  the 
embryo  :  — 


"  On  the  road  to  .  .  . 

"  What  is  more  wearisome  than  a  railway  journey  and 
tiresome  companions?  An  Italian,  an  indescribable  fool, 
has  tacked  himself  on  to  me,  and  I  hardly  know  how  to 
get  rid  of  him.  He  does  not  even  know  where  he  is  going, 
nor  where  to  change  his  money.  I  changed  mine  at  a 
Jew's  in  Cracow.  What  a  bore  it  all  is !  Sometimes  I 
think  of  Sasha  and  Modi,  and  my  heart  is  fit  to  break.  At 
Volochisk  great  agitation,  and  my  nerves  upset.  With  the 
exception  of  the  Italian,  my  fellow-travellers  are  bearable. 
I  scarcely  slept  all  night.  The  old  man  is  a  retired  officer 
with  the  old,  original  whiskers.  At  the  present  moment 
the  Italian  is  boring  a  lady.  Lord,  what  an  ass !  I  must 
get  rid  of  him  by  some  kind  of  dodge." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 


141 


11  June  2gth  (July  nth). 

"  I  had  four  long  hours  to  wait  in  Myslovitz ;  at  last 
I  am  on  the  road  to  Breslau.  The  Italian  is  enchanted  to 
think  I  shall  travel  with  him  to  Liggia.  He  bores  me 
to  extinction.  Oh,  what  an  idiot !  At  Myslovitz  I  had  an 
indifferent  meal,  and  afterwards  went  for  a  walk  through 
the  pretty  town.  I  can  imagine  my  Italian's  face,  and 
what  he  will  say,  when  I  suddenly  vanish  at  Breslau  !  He 
will  be  left  sitting  there  !  My  money  goes  like  water  !  " 


"JEAN  PROSCO,  CONSTANTINOPLE, 
"  BRESLAU. 

"After  all  I  had  not  the  heart  to  deceive  my  Italian. 
I  told  him  beforehand  I  intended  to  stop  in  Breslau.  He 
almost  dissolved  into  tears,  and  gave  me  his  name,  which  I 
have  put  down  above." 

"3  a.m. 

"  How  I  love  solitude  sometimes  !  I  must  confess  I  am 
only  staying  here  in  order  to  put  off  my  arrival  in  Dresden 
and  the  society  of  the  Jurgensons.  To  sit  like  this — 
alone,  to  be  silent,  and  to  think  !  .  .  ." 


"  Not  far  from  Dresden. 

"  Theme  for  the  first  allegro,  introduction  from  the  same, 
but  in  4/4  time." 

bis 


H2  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


"  DRESDEN, 

"  I  arrived  here  yesterday  at  six  o'clock.  As  soon  as 
I  had  secured  a  room  I  hurried  to  the  theatre.  Die  Jiidin 
(The  Jewess)  was  being  played — very  fine.  My  nerves  are 
terrible.  Without  waiting  for  the  end,  I  went  to  find  the 
Jurgensons  at  the  hotel.  Supper.  Took  tea  with  the 
Jurgensons.  To-day  I  took  a  bath.  Sauntered  about 
the  town  with  Jurgenson.  Midday  dinner  at  the  table 
d'hote.  Very  shortly  we  start  for  Saxon  Switzerland.  My 
frame  of  mind  is  not  unbearable." 

"  DRESDEN. 

"The  weather  has  broken  up,  and  we  have  decided  to 
turn  back  from  our  trip.  We  made  the  descent  from  the 
Bastei  by  another  road  between  colossal  rocks.  We  halted 
at  a  restaurant  in  the  midst  of  the  most  sublime  scenery. 
Breakfasted  on  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  (omelette  aux  con- 
fitures} and  returned  to  Dresden  by  boat.  Our  rooms  were 
no  longer  to  be  had,  and  they  have  given  me  a  wretched 


Throughout  the  whole  of  his  tour  through  Switzerland 
we  find  similar  brief  entries,  recording  very  little  beyond 
the  state  of  the  weather,  the  names  of  the  hotels  at 
which  they  stayed,  and  the  quality  of  the  meals  pro- 
vided. 

At  Cadenabbia  (Como)  the  diary  comes  to  an  end  with 
the  following  entry  : — 

"The  journey  (from  Milan)  was  not  long,  and  it  was 
very  pleasant  on  the  steamer.  We  are  staying  at  the 
lovely  Hotel  Bellevue." 

After  Tchaikovsky's  return  to  Russia,  early  in  August, 
he  went  straight  to  his  favourite  summer  resort  Ussovo. 
The  fortnight  which  he  spent  there  in  complete  solitude 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  143 

seemed  to  Tchaikovsky,  in  after  days,  one  of  the  happiest 
periods  in  his  existence.  Life  abroad,  under  similar  cir- 
cumstances, he  found  painful  and  unbearable,  whereas  in 
his  own  country  the  presence  even  of  a  servant  sufficed  to 
spoil  his  solitude,  and  the  sense  of  increased  energy  and 
strength,  which  always  came  to  him  in  the  lonely  life  of 
the  country,  was  unknown  in  the  bustle  and  stress  of  the 
city.  In  a  letter  written  in  1878  he  recalls  this  visit  to 
Ussovo  in  the  following  words  : — 

To  N.  F.  M.  (von  Meek}. 

"April  22nd  (March  tfh\  1878. 

"  I  know  no  greater  happiness  than  to  spend  a  few  days 
quite  alone  in  the  country.  I  have  only  experienced  this 
delight  once  in  my  life.  This  was  in  1873.  I  came 
straight  from  Paris — it  was  early  in  August — to  stay  with 
a  bachelor  friend  in  the  country,  in  the  Government  of 
Tambov.  My  friend,  however,  was  obliged  to  go  to 
Moscow  for  a  few  days,  so  I  was  left  all  alone  in  that 
lovely  oasis  amid  the  steppes  of  South  Russia.  I  was  in 
a  highly  strung,  emotional  mood ;  wandered  for  whole 
days  together  in  the  forest,  spent  the  evenings  on  the  low- 
lying  steppe,  and  at  night,  sitting  at  my  open  window,  I 
listened  to  the  solemn  stillness,  which  was  only  broken  at 
rare  intervals  by  some  vague,  indefinable  sound.  During 
this  fortnight,  without  the  least  effort — just  as  though  I 
were  under  the  influence  of  some  supernatural  force — I 
sketched  out  the  whole  of  The  Tempest  overture.  What 
an  unpleasant  and  tiresome  awakening  from  my  dreams  I 
experienced  on  my  friend's  return  !  All  the  delights  of 
direct  intercourse  with  the  sublimities  and  indescribable 
beauties  of  nature  vanished  in  a  trice !  My  corner  of 
Paradise  was  transformed  into  the  prosaic  house  of  a  well- 
to-do  country  gentleman.  After  two  or  three  days  of 
boredom  I  went  back  to  Moscow." 

Tchaikovsky  went  to  Ussovo  about  the  5th  or  6th  of 
August,  and  by  the  7th  (iQth)  had  already  set  to  work 


144  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

upon  The  Tempest.  By  August  i;th  (2Qth)  this  sym- 
phonic poem  was  completely  sketched  out  in  all  its  details, 
so  that  the  composer  could  go  straight  on  with  the  orches- 
tration on  his  return  to  Moscow.  The  Countess  Vassilieva- 
Shilovsky  made  me  a  present  of  this  manuscript,  upon 
which  are  inscribed  the  dates  I  have  just  mentioned.  At 
the  present  time  the  manuscript  is  in  the  Imperial  Public 
Library,  St.  Petersburg. 


X 

1873-1874 

As  soon  as  Tchaikovsky  returned  to  Moscow,  on 
September  ist,  he  set  to  work  upon  the  orchestration  of 
The  Tempest. 

In  the  second  half  of  the  month  he  moved  into  new 
quarters  in  the  Nikitskaya  (House  Vishnevsky). 

Nothing  particularly  eventful  had  happened  since  last 
year,  either  in  his  career  as  professor  or  musical  critic. 
His  daily  life  ran  in  the  same  grooves  as  before,  with  this 
difference  only :  the  things  which  once  seemed  to  him  new 
and  interesting  now  appeared  more  and  more  wearisome 
and  unprofitable,  and  his  moods  of  depression  became  more 
frequent,  more  intense,  and  of  longer  duration. 


To  V.  Bessel. 

"September,  1873. 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  do  something  for  The  Oprichnik. 
Yesterday  they  told  me  at  the  Opera  House  that  the 
Direction  had  quite  decided  to  produce  it  in  Moscow 
during  the  spring.  Although,  with  the  exception  of 
Kadmina,  I  have  no  strong  forces  to  reckon  upon  here, 
yet  I  think  we  had  better  not  raise  any  objections.  Let 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  145 

them  do  it  if  they  like.  The  repttiteur  has  assured  me 
that  no  expense  shall  be  spared  in  mounting  the  opera 
brilliantly.  The  rehearsals  will  be  carried  on  throughout 
the  season.  As  regards  The  Oprichnik,  I  think  it  would 
be  best  to  dedicate  it  to  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine 
Nicholaevich." 

To  the  same. 

"October  loth  (22nd). 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  written  to  Gedeonov  and  told 
him  that  you  are  my  representative  as  regards  everything 
pertaining  to  the  production  of  The  Oprichnik.  As  to  the 
pianoforte  arrangement,  you  must  wait  patiently  for  a  little 
while.  When  you  meet  Stassov,  please  tell  him  I  have 
quite  finished  The  Tempest,  according  to  his  programme, 
but  I  shall  not  send  him  the  work  until  I  have  heard  it 
performed  in  Moscow." 

To  the  same. 

"  October  i8M  (30^). 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — Although  I  expected  your  bad  news, 
I  cannot  conceal  the  fact  that  I  am  very  much  annoyed  by 
it.  It  seems  to  be  a  foregone  conclusion  that  I  shall  never 
hear  a  good  performance  of  one  of  my  operas.  It  is  useless 
for  you  to  hope  that  The  Oprichnik  will  be  mounted  next 
year.  It  will  never  be  given  at  all,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  I  am  not  personally  known  to  any  of  the  'great 
people '  of  the  world  in  general,  or  to  those  of  the  Peters- 
burg Opera  in  particular.  Is  it  not  ridiculous  that  Mous- 
sorgsky's  Boris  Godounov,  although  refused  by  the  Com- 
mittee, should  have  been  chosen  by  Kondratiev1  for  his 
benefit  ?  Madame  Platonova,  too,  interests  herself  in  this 
work,  while  no  one  wants  to  hear  anything  about  mine, 
which  has  been  accepted  by  the  authorities.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  I  will  not  consent  to  have  the  opera 
performed  in  Moscow  unless  it  is  produced  in  Petersburg 
too.  My  conscience  pricks  me  that  the  work  will  involve 

1  G.  Kondratiev,  baritone  singer,  and  afterwards  manager  of  the  Mary- 
insky  Theatre. 


146  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

you  in  some  expense,  but  I  hope  I  may  have  some  oppor- 
tunity of  compensating  you. 

"  As  to  the  dedication  to  the  Grand  Duke,  would  it  not 
look  strange  to  dedicate  it  to  him  now  that  the  fate  of  the 
work  is  so  uncertain  ?  An  unperformed  opera  seems  to  me 
like  a  book  in  manuscript.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
wait?  I  am  impatiently  expecting  the  corrections  of  the 
symphony." 

To  the  same. 

"  October  y>th  (November  nth). 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — Hubert  has  given  me  the  good  news 
that  luck  has  turned  for  the  opera.  I  am  so  glad !  Keep 
it  a  complete  secret  that  I  want  to  be  in  Petersburg  for  the 
first  symphony  concert,  in  order  to  hear  my  symphony. 
.  .  .  Let  me  know  the  date  and  secure  me  a  ticket  for  the 
gallery.  But  not  a  word,  for  Heaven's  sake,  or  my  little 
joke  will  be  turned  into  something  quite  unpleasant." 


To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  i%th  (December  io/V&). 

"...  My  pecuniary  situation  will  shortly  be  improved. 
The  Tempest  is  to  be  performed  next  week,  when  I  shall 
receive  the  customary  300  roubles  from  the  Musical  Society. 
This  sum  will  put  me  in  good  heart  again.  I  am  very 
curious  to  hear  my  new  work,  from  which  I  hope  so  much. 
It  is  a  pity  you  cannot  hear  it  too,  for  I  think  a  great  deal 
of  your  wise  opinion. 

"This  year,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  begun  to  realise 
that  I  am  rather  lonely  here,  in  spite  of  many  friends. 
There  is  no  one  to  whom  I  can  open  my  heart — like 
Kondratiev,  for  instance." 


At  the  third  concert  of  the  Moscow  Musical  Society 
The  Tempest  was  given  with  great  success,  and  repeated 
during  the  same  season  at  an  extra  concert. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  147 


From  E.  Napravnik  to  Peter  Ilich  Tchaikovsky. 

"December  i6th  (28^). 

"  Although  we  shall  probably  not  begin  the  rehearsals 
of  your  opera  before  the  second  week  in  Lent,  may  I  ask 
you  to  lighten  the  work  somewhat  for  the  soloists  and 
chorus  by  making  a  few  cuts,  i.e.  all  those  repetitions  in 
words  and  music  which  are  not  essential  to  the  development 
of  the  drama  ?  I  assure  you  the  work  will  only  gain  by  it. 
Besides  this,  I  advise  you  to  alter  the  orchestration,  which 
is  too  heavy,  and  over-brilliant  in  places ;  it  overwhelms 
the  singers  and  puts  them  completely  in  the  shade.  I  hope 
you  will  take  my  remarks  in  good  part,  as  coming  from 
one  who  for  eleven  years  has  been  exclusively  occupied 
with  operatic  art." 

To  E.  Napravnik.  •  +  i 

"December  i%th  (30^). 

"  HONOURED  SIR, — Your  remarks  have  not  hurt  my 
feelings:  on  the  contrary,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you. 
Above  all  I  am  glad  that  your  letter  has  given  me  the 
opportunity  of  making  your  acquaintance,  and  talking 
things  over  personally  with  you.  I  will  do  everything 
you  think  necessary  as  regards  the  distribution  of  the 
parts,  the  shortening  of  the  scenes,  and  the  changes 
in  the  orchestration.  In  order  to  discuss  things  in  detail, 
I  will  go  to  Petersburg  next  Sunday  and  call  upon  you.  .  .  . 
Pray  do  not  mention  my  coming  to  anyone,  as  my  visit 
will  be  short,  and  I  do  not  want  to  see  anyone  but  your- 
self." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 

"January  26th  (February  >]th),  1874. 

"  The  difficulties  with  the  Censor  are  happily  settled  ;  in 
fact,  I  am  at  peace  as  regards  the  opera,  and  convinced 
that  Napravnik  will  take  the  greatest  pains  with  it.  I  have 
written  a  new  quartet,  and  it  is  to  be  played  at  a  soirte 
given  by  Nicholas  Rubinstein." 


148  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

The  new  quartet  mentioned  in  this  letter  was  begun 
about  the  end  of  December,  or  beginning  of  January.  In 
his  reminiscences,  Kashkin  gives  the  following  account 
of  its  first  performance  at  N.  Rubinstein's  : — 

"Early  in  1874  the  Second  Quartet  (F  major)  was 
played  at  a  musical  evening  at  Nicholas  Rubinstein's. 
I  believe  the  host  himself  was  not  present,  but  his  brother 
Anton  was  there.  The  executants  were  Laub,  Grijimal, 
and  Gerber.  All  the  time  the  music  was  going  on 
Rubinstein  listened  with  a  lowering,  discontented  ex- 
pression, and,  at  the  end,  declared  with  his  customary 
brutal  frankness  that  it  was  not  at  all  in  the  style  of 
chamber  music ;  that  he  himself  could  not  understand  the 
work,  etc.  The  rest  of  the  audience,  as  well  as  the  players, 
were  charmed  with  it." 

On  March  loth  (22nd)  the  Quartet  was  played  at  one  of 
the  Musical  Society's  chamber  concerts,  and  according  to 
The  Musical  Leaflet,  had  a  well-deserved  success. 

On  February  25th  (March  Qth),  the  Second  Symphony 
was  performed  for  the  first  time  in  Petersburg,  under 
Napravnik's  direction.  It  was  greatly  applauded,  especially 
the  finale ;  but,  in  the  absence  of  the  composer,  its  success 
was  not  so  remarkable,  nor  so  brilliant,  as  it  had  been 
a  year  earlier  in  Moscow.  The  symphony  won  the  ap- 
proval of  the  "  Invincible  Band,"  with  the  exception  of 
Caesar  Cui,  who  expressed  himself  in  the  St.  Petersburg 
Viedomosti  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Introduction  and  first  Allegro  are  very  weak ;  the 
poverty  of  Tchaikovsky's  invention  displays  itself  every 
moment.  The  March  in  the  second  movement  is  rough 
and  commonplace.  The  Scherzo  is  neither  good  nor  bad ; 
the  trio  is  so  innocent  that  it  would  be  almost  too  infantile 
for  a  '  Sniegourotchka.'  The  best  movement  is  the  Finale, 
and  even  then  the  opening  is  as  pompously  trivial  as 
the  introduction  to  a  pas  de  deux,  and  the  end  is  beneath  all 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  149 

Towards  the  end  of  March,  Tchaikovsky  went  to  St. 
Petersburg  to  attend  the  rehearsals  of  The  Oprichnik,  and 
took  up  his  abode  with  his  father.  During  his  first  inter- 
views with  Napravnik  his  pride  suffered  many  blows  to 
which  he  was  not  accustomed.  Somewhat  spoilt  by 
Nicholas  Rubinstein's  flattering  attitude  towards  every 
note  of  his  recent  orchestral  works,  he  was  rather  hurt  by 
the  number  of  cuts  Napravnik  considered  it  necessary  to 
make  in  the  score  of  his  opera.  Afterwards  he  approved  of 
them  all,  but  at  the  moment  he  felt  affronted. 

From  the  very  first  rehearsal  Tchaikovsky  was  dis- 
satisfied with  his  work.  On  March  2$th  he  wrote  to 
Albrecht  :— 

"  Kindly  inform  all  my  friends  that  the  first  performance 
takes  place  on  Friday  in  Easter  week,  and  let  me  know  in 
good  time  whether  they  intend  to  come  and  hear  it,  so  that 
I  may  secure  tickets  for  them.  Frankly  speaking,  I  would 
rather  none  of  you  came.  There  is  nothing  really  fine  in 
the  work" 

To  his  pupil,  Serge  Taneiev,  he  writes  in  the  same 
strain  : — 

"  Serioja,1  if  you  really  seriously  intend  to  come  here  on 
purpose  to  hear  my  opera,  I  implore  you  to  abandon  the 
idea,  for  there  is  nothing  good  in  it,  and  it  would  be  a  pity 
if  you  travelled  to  Petersburg  on  that  account." 

The  more  the  opera  was  studied,  the  gloomier  grew  Tchai- 
kovsky's mood.  One  day,  unsuspicious  of  the  true  reason 
of  his  depression,  I  ventured  to  criticise  The  Oprichnik 
rather  severely,  and  made  fun  of  the  scene  in  which 
Andrew  appears  in  Jemchoujny's  garden,  merely  to  "draw" 
him  for  some  money.  My  brother  lost  his  temper  and  flew 
out  at  me  fiercely.  I  was  almost  reduced  to  tears,  for  at 
the  time  I  could  not  guess  the  real  reason  for  his  anger. 

1  Diminutive  of  Serge. 


ISO  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

It  was  not  until  long  after  that  I  realised  my  criticism  had 
wounded  his  artistic  feelings  in  the  most  sensitive  spot. 

Against  Tchaikovsky's  wish,  almost  the  entire  teaching 
staff  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire,  with  N.  Rubinstein 
at  their  head,  appeared  in  Petersburg  for  the  first  night  of 
The  Oprichnik,  April  I2th  (24th),  1874. 

Although  none  of  the  singers  were  remarkable,  yet  no 
individual  artist  marred  the  ensemble.  The  chorus  and 
orchestra  were  the  best  part  of  it.  The  performance  ran 
smoothly.  The  scenery  and  costumes  were  rather  old,  for 
the  authorities  did  not  care  to  risk  the  expense  of  a  very 
luxurious  setting  for  a  new  work  by  a  composer  whose 
name  was  not  as  yet  a  guarantee  for  a  brilliant  success. 

On  the  face  of  it,  the  work  seemed  to  have  a  great 
success.  After  the  second  act  the  composer  was  unani- 
mously called  before  the  curtain.  The  public  seemed  to 
be  in  that  enthusiastic  mood  which  is  the  true  criterion  of 
the  success  of  a  work. 

In  a  box  on  the  second  tier  sat  the  composer's  old 
father  with  his  family.  He  beamed  with  happiness.  But 
when  I  asked  him  which  he  thought  best  for  Peter,  this 
artistic  success  or  the  Empress  Anne's  Order,  which  he 
might  have  gained  as  an  official,  he  replied  :  "  The  decora- 
tion would  certainly  have  been  better."  This  answer 
shows  that  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  still  regretted  that  his 
son  had  ceased  to  be  an  official.  Not  that  this  feeling 
sprang  from  petty  ambition,  or  from  any  other  prosaic  or 
egotistical  reason,  but  because  he  believed  that  the  life  of 
the  ordinary  man  is  safer  and  happier  than  that  of  the 
artist. 

After  the  performance  the  directors  of  the  Moscow  and 
Petersburg  sections  of  the  Russian  Musical  Society  gave 
a  supper  in  honour  of  Tchaikovsky  at  the  Restaurant 
Borcille. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Asantchevsky,  then 
principal  of  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatoire,  delivered 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1874 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  151 

an  address,  in  which  he  informed  the  composer  in  flatter- 
ing terms  that  the  directors  of  the  Petersburg  section  of 
the  Musical  Society  had  decided  to  award  him  the  sum 
of  300  roubles,  being  a  portion  of  the  Kondratiev  Bequest 
for  the  benefit  of  Russian  composers. 

The  Press  notices  of  The  Oprichnik  were  as  contradic- 
tory as  they  were  numerous.  The  opinions  of  Caesar 
Cui  and  Laroche  represented  as  usual  the  two  opposite 
poles  of  criticism.  The  former  declared  that  while 

"  the  text  might  have  been  the  work  of  a  schoolboy,  the 
music  is  equally  immature  and  undeveloped.  Poor  in 
conception,  and  feeble  throughout,  it  is  such  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  a  beginner,  but  not  from  a 
composer  who  has  already  covered  so  many  sheets  of 
paper.  Tchaikovsky's  creative  talents,  which  are  occasion- 
ally apparent  in  his  symphonic  works,  are  completely 
lacking  in  The  Oprichnik.  The  choruses  are  rather  better 
than  the  rest,  but  this  is  only  because  of  the  folksong 
element  which  forms  their  thematic  material.  .  .  .  Not 
only  will  The  Oprichnik  not  bear  comparison  with  other 
operas  of  the  Russian  school,  such  as  Boris  Godounov?  for 
instance,  but  it  is  even  inferior  to  examples  of  Italian 
opera." 

In  these  words  Cui  apparently  believed  he  had  given 
the  death-blow  to  the  composer  of  The  Oprichnik. 

Laroche's  view  (in  The  Musical  Leaflet)  is  quite  opposed 
to  that  of  Caesar  Cui.  He  says  : — 

"  While  our  modern  composers  of  opera  contend  with 
each  other  in  their  negation  of  music,  Tchaikovsky's  opera 
does  not  bear  the  stamp  of  this  doubtful  progress,  but 
shows  the  work  of  a  gifted  temperament.  The  wealth  of 
musical  beauties  in  The  Oprichnik  is  so  great  that  this  opera 
takes  a  significant  place  not  only  among  Tchaikovsky's 
own  works,  but  among  all  the  examples  of  Russian 
dramatic  music.  When  to  this  rare  melodic  gift  we  add 
a  fine  harmonic  style,  the  wonderful,  free,  and  often  daring 

1  By  Moussorgsky. 


152  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

progression  of  the  parts,  the  genuinely  Russian  art  of 
inventing  chromatic  harmonies  for  diatonic  melodies,  the 
frequent  employment  of  pedal-points  (which  the  composer 
uses  almost  too  freely),  the  skilful  manner  in  which  he 
unites  the  various  scenes  into  an  organic  whole,  and  finally 
the  sonorous  and  brilliant  orchestration,  we  have  a  score 
which  displays  many  of  the  best  features  of  modern 
operatic  music,  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  free  from  most 
of  the  worst  faults  of  contemporary  composition." 

The  most  harsh  and  pitiless  of  critics,  however,  was  the 
composer  himself,  who  wrote  a  fortnight  after  the  first 
performance  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Oprichnik  torments  me.  This  opera  is  so  bad 
that  I  always  ran  away  from  the  rehearsals  (especially  of 
Acts  iii.  and  iv.)  to  avoid  hearing  another  note.  ...  It 
has  neither  action,  style,  nor  inspiration.  I  am  sure  it  will 
not  survive  half  a  dozen  performances,  which  is  mortally 
vexatious." 

This  prediction  was  not  fulfilled,  for  by  March  1st  (i3th), 
1 88 1,  The  Oprichnik  was  given  fourteen  times.  This  does 
not  amount  to  a  great  deal ;  but  when  we  remember  that 
not  a  single  new  opera  of  the  Russian  school — Boris 
Godounov^  The  Stone  Guest,  William  Ratcliff,  Angela — 
had  exceeded  sixteen  performances,  and  many  had  only 
reached  eight,  we  must  admit  that  The  Oprichnik  had 
more  than  the  average  success. 

The  third  day  after  the  performance  of  his  opera 
Tchaikovsky  started  for  Italy.  Besides  wishing  to  rest 
after  the  excitement  of  the  last  few  days,  he  went  as 
correspondent  for  the  Russky  Viedomosti  to  attend  the  first 
performance  in  Italy  of  Glinka's  A  Life  for  the  Tsar.  The 
opera  was  translated  into  Italian  by  Madame  Santagano- 
Gortshakov  and,  thanks  to  her  initiative,  was  brought  out 
at  the  Teatro  dal  Verme  in  Milan. 

1  Boris  GodounoV)  Moussorgsky  ;  The  Stone  Guest  t  Dargomijsky ;  Ratcliff 
and  Angela,  Caesar  Cui. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  153 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"VENICE,  April  \^th  (29^),  1874. 

"All  day  long  I  have  been  walking  up  and  down  the 
Piazza  San  Marco.  .  .  .  My  soul  was  very  downcast.  Why? 
For  many  reasons,  one  of  which  is  that  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself.  Instead  of  going  abroad  and  spending  money,  I 
ought  really  to  have  paid  your  debts  and  Anatol's — and 
yet  I  am  hurrying  off  to  enjoy  the  beautiful  South.  The 
thought  of  my  wrong-doing  and  selfishness  has  so  tor- 
mented me  that  only  now,  in  putting  my  feelings  on  paper, 
does  my  conscience  begin  to  feel  somewhat  lighter.  So 
forgive  me,  dear  Modi,  for  loving  myself  better  than  you 
and  the  rest  of  mankind. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  think  I  am  posing  as  a  benefactor. 
Not  in  the  least.  I  know  my  egotism  is  limitless,  or  I 
should  not  have  gone  off  on  my  trip  while  you  had  to 
remain  at  home.  .  .  .  Now  I  will  tell  you  about  Venice. 
It  is  a  place  in  which — had  I  to  remain  for  long — I  should 
hang  myself  on  the  fifth  day  from  sheer  despair.  The 
entire  life  of  the  place  centres  in  the  Piazza  San  Marco. 
To  venture  further  in  any  direction  is  to  find  yourself  in  a 
labyrinth  of  stinking  corridors  which  end  in  some  cul-de-sac, 
so  that  you  have  no  idea  where  you  are,  or  where  to  go, 
unless  you  are  in  a  gondola.  A  trip  through  the  Canale 
Grande  is  well  worth  making,  for  one  passes  marble  palaces, 
each  one  more  beautiful  and  more  dilapidated  than  the 
last.  In  fact,  you  might  suppose  yourself  to  be  gazing 
upon  the  ruined  scenery  in  the  first  act  of  Lucrezia.  But 
the  Doge's  Palace  is  beauty  and  elegance  itself;  and  then 
the  romantic  atmosphere  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  the  Inqui- 
sition, the  torture  chambers,  and  other  fascinating  things. 
I  have  thoroughly  '  done '  this  palace  within  and  without, 
and  dutifully  visited  two  others,  and  also  three  churches,  in 
which  were  many  pictures  by  Titian  and  Tintoretto,  statues 
by  Canova,  and  other  treasures.  Venice,  however — I  repeat 
it — is  very  gloomy,  and  like  a  dead  city.  There  are  no 
horses  here,  and  I  have  not  even  come  across  a  dog. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  telegram  from  Milan.  A  Life 
for  the  Tsar  will  not  be  performed  before  May  1 2th  (new 
style),  so  I  have  decided  to  leave  to-morrow  for  Rome,  and 


154  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

afterwards  go  on  to  Naples,  where  I  shall  expect  to  find  a 
letter  from  you." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  ROME,  April  zoth  (May  2tid\  1874. 

"  DEAR  TOLY, — .  .  .  Solitude  is  a  very  good  thing,  and 
I  like  it — in  moderation.  To-day  is  the  eighth  day  since  I 
left  Russia,  and  during  the  whole  of  this  time  I  have  not 
exchanged  a  friendly  word  with  anyone.  Except  the 
hotel  servants  and  railway  officials,  no  human  being  has 
heard  a  word  from  my  lips.  I  saunter  through  the  city  all 
the  morning  and  have  certainly  seen  most  glorious  things : 
the  Colosseum,  the  Capitol,  the  Vatican,  the  Pantheon,  and, 
finally — the  loftiest  triumph  of  human  genius — St.  Peter's. 
Since  the  midday  meal  I  have  been  to  the  Corso,  but  here 
I  was  overcome  by  such  'spleen'  that  I  am  striving  to  shake 
it  off  by  writing  letters  and  drinking  tea.  .  .  .  Except  for 
certain  historical  and  artistic  sights,  Rome  itself,  with  its 
narrow  streets,  is  not  interesting,  and  I  cannot  understand 
spending  one's  whole  life  here,  as  many  Russians  do.  I 
have  sufficient  funds  to  travel  all  over  Italy.  As  regards 
money,  from  the  moment  I  left  Russia  I  have  not  ceased 
to  reproach  myself  for  my  unfeeling  egotism.  If  you  only 
knew  how  my  conscience  has  pricked  me  !  But  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  travel  through  Italy.  It  is  too  foolish ;  if 
I  had  wanted  distraction  I  might  just  as  well  have  gone  to 
Kiev  or  the  Crimea — it  would  have  been  cheap  and  as  good. 
Dear  Toly,  I  embrace  you  heartily.  What  would  I  give  to 
see  you  suddenly  appear  on  the  scene ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"FLORENCE,  April  *>]th  (May  qth),  1874. 

"  You  are  thinking  :  '  Lucky  fellow,  first  he  writes  from 
Venice  and  then  from  Florence.'  Yet  all  the  while,  Modi, 
you  cannot  imagine  anyone  who  suffers  more  than  I  do. 
At  Naples  it  came  to  such  a  pass  that  every  day  I  shed 
tears  from  sheer  home-sickness  and  longing  for  my  dear 
folk.  .  .  .  But  the  chief  ground  of  all  my  misery  is  The 
Oprichnik.  Finally,  the  same  terrible  weather  has  followed 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  155 

me  here.  The  Italians  cannot  remember  a  similar  spring. 
At  Naples,  where  I  spent  six  days,  I  saw  nothing,  because 
in  bad  weather  the  town  is  impassable.  The  last  two  days 
it  was  impossible  to  go  out.  I  fled  post-haste,  and  shall  go 
straight  to  Sasha1  without  stopping  at  Milan.  I  have  very 
good  grounds  for  avoiding  Milan,  for  I  hear  from  a  certain 
Stchurovsky  that  the  performance  of  A  Life  for  the  Tsar 
will  be  bungled.  ...  In  Florence  I  only  had  time  to  go 
through  the  principal  streets,  which  pleased  me  very  much. 
I  hate  Rome,  and  Naples  too ;  the  devil  take  them  both ! 
There  is  only  one  town  in  the  world  for  me — Moscow,  and 
perhaps  I  might  add  Paris." 

Without  waiting  for  the  performance  of  A  Life  for  the 
Tsar  at  Milan,  which  did  not  take  place  until  May  8th 
(2Oth),  Tchaikovsky  returned  to  Moscow  early  in  this 
month. 

For  a  short  time  his  dissatisfaction  with  The  Oprichnik 
filled  him  with  such  doubt  of  his  powers  that  his  spirits 
flagged.  But  his  energy  quickly  recovered  itself.  No 
sooner  had  he  returned  to  Moscow,  than  he  was  possessed 
by  an  intense  desire  to  prove  to  himself  and  others  that  he 
was  equal  to  better  things  than  The  Oprichnik.  The  score 
of  this  work  seemed  like  a  sin,  for  which  he  must  make 
reparation  at  all  costs.  There  was  but  one  way  of  atone- 
ment— to  compose  a  new  opera  which  should  have  no 
resemblance  to  The  Oprichnik,  and  should  wipe  out  the 
memory  of  that  unhappy  work. 

In  the  course  of  this  season,  the  Russian  Musical  Society 
organised  a  prize  competition  for  the  best  setting  of  the 
opera,  Vakoula  the  Smith. 

While  Serov  was  still  engaged  upon  his  opera,  The  Power 
of  the  Evil  One,  he  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  desire  to 
compose  a  Russian  comic  opera,  and  chose  a  fantastic  poem 
by  Gogol.  When  he  informed  his  patroness,  the  Grand 
Duchess  Helena  Pavlovna,  of  his  project,  she  declared  herself 

1  His  sister,  Madame  Davidov. 


156  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

willing  to  have  a  libretto  prepared  by  the  poet  Polonsky  at 
her  own  cost.  Serov  died  before  he  had  time  to  begin  the 
opera,  and  the  Grand  Duchess  resolved  to  honour  his 
memory  by  offering  two  prizes  for  the  best  setting  of  the 
libretto  he  had  been  unable  to  use.  In  January,  1873,  the 
Grand  Duchess  Helena  died,  and  the  directors  of  the  Im- 
perial Musical  Society  proceeded  to  carry  out  her  wishes 
with  regard  to  the  libretto  of  Vakoula  the  Smith. 

The  latest  date  at  which  the  competitors  might  send  in 
their  scores  to  the  jury  was  fixed  for  August  1st  (i3th) 
1875.  The  successful  opera  was  afterwards  to  be  per- 
formed at  the  Imperial  Opera  House  in  Petersburg. 

At  first  Tchaikovsky  hesitated  to  take  part  in  the  com- 
petition, lest  he  should  be  unsuccessful.  But  having  read 
Polonsky's  libretto,  he  was  fascinated.  The  originality 
and  captivating  local  colour,  as  well  as  the  really  poetical 
lyrics  with  which  the  book  is  interspersed,  commended 
it  to  Tchaikovsky's  imagination,  so  that  he  could  no  longer 
resist  the  impulse  to  set  it  to  music.  At  the  same  time  he 
feared  the  competition,  not  so  much  because  he  desired 
the  prize,  as  because,  in  the  event  of  failure,  he  could  not 
hope  to  see  his  version  of  the  libretto  produced  at  the 
Imperial  Opera.  This  was  his  actual  motive  in  trying  to 
discover,  before  finally  deciding  the  matter,  whether  Anton 
Rubinstein,  Balakirev,  or  Rimsky-Korsakov  were  intending 
to  compete.  As  soon  as  he  had  ascertained  that  these 
rivals  were  not  going  to  meet  him  in  the  field,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  task  with  ardour. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  summer  vacation  Tchaikovsky 
went  to  stay  with  Kondratiev  at  Nizy,  and  set  to  work 
without  loss  of  time.  He  was  under  the  misapprehension 
that  the  score  had  to  be  ready  by  August  1st  of  that  year 
(1874),  besides  which  he  felt  a  burning  desire  to  wipe  out 
the  memory  of  The  Oprichnik  as  soon  as  possible.  By 
the  middle  of  July,  when  he  left  Nizy  for  Ussovo,  he  had 
all  but  finished  the  sketch  of  the  opera,  and  was  ready  to 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  157 

begin  the  orchestration.  At  Ussovo  he  redoubled  his 
efforts,  and  the  work  was  actually  completed  by  the  end 
of  August.  The  entire  opera  had  occupied  him  barely 
three  months.  He  wrote  no  other  dramatic  work  under 
such  a  long  and  unbroken  spell  of  inspiration.  To  the 
end  of  his  days  Tchaikovsky  had  a  great  weakness  for 
this  particular  opera.  In  1885  he  made  some  not  very 
important  changes  in  the  score.  It  has  been  twice  re- 
named ;  once  as  Cherevichek  ("  The  Little  Shoes "),  and 
later  as  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane,  under  which  title  it  now 
appears  in  foreign  editions. 

During  this  season  Tchaikovsky's  reputation  greatly 
increased.  The  success  of  his  Second  Symphony,  and  the 
performance  of  The  Oprichnik,  made  his  name  as  well 
known  in  Petersburg  as  it  had  now  become  in  Moscow. 

In  his  account  of  the  first  performance  of  A  Life  for 
the  Tsar,  at  Milan,  Hans  von  Biilow,  referring  to  Tchai- 
kovsky, says : — l 

"  At  the  present  moment  we  know  but  one  other  who, 
like  Glinka,  strives  and  aspires,  and  whose  works — 
although  they  have  not  yet  attained  to  full  maturity — 
give  the  complete  assurance  that  such  maturity  will  not 
fail  to  come.  I  refer  to  the  young  professor  of  composi- 
tion at  the  Moscow  Conservatoire — Tchaikovsky.  A 
beautiful  string  quartet  by  him  has  won  its  way  in  many 
German  towns.  Many  of  his  works  deserve  equal  recogni- 
tion— his  pianoforte  compositions,  two  symphonies,  and 
an  uncommonly  interesting  overture  to  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
which  commends  itself  by  its  originality  and  luxuriant 
flow  of  melody.  Thanks  to  his  many-sidedness,  this 
composer  will  not  run  the  danger  of  being  neglected 
abroad,  as  was  the  case  with  Glinka." 

1  Allgemeine  Zeitung,  No.  148  (1874),  "  Musikalisches  aus  Italian." 


158  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

XI 

1874-1875 

It  was  not  until  his  return  to  Moscow  that  Tchaikovsky 
found  out  his  mistake  as  to  the  date  of  the  competition. 
This  discovery  annoyed  him  exceedingly.  Like  all  com- 
posers, he  burned  with  impatience  to  hear  his  work  per- 
formed as  soon  as  possible.  In  his  case  such  impatience 
was  all  the  greater,  because  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
delay;  hitherto  Nicholas  Rubinstein  had  brought  out  his 
works  almost  before  the  ink  was  dry  on  the  paper.  Besides 
which  Tchaikovsky  had  never  before  been  so  pleased 
with  any  offspring  of  his  genius  as  with  this  new  opera. 
The  desire  to  see  Vakoula  mounted,  and  thus  to  wipe  out 
the  bad  impression  left  by  The  Oprichnik,  became  almost 
a  fixed  idea,  and  led  him  to  a  course  of  action  which  in 
calmer  moments  would  have  seemed  to  him  reprehensible. 

Tchaikovsky  never  had  the  art  of  keeping  a  secret, 
especially  when  it  was  a  question  of  the  rehabilitation  of  his 
artistic  reputation,  such  as  it  seemed  to  him  at  present,  for 
he  believed  it  to  have  been  damaged  by  "  the  detestable 
Oprichnik"  Consequently  he  never  took  the  least  trouble 
to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  was  taking  part  in  this  competi- 
tion. For  a  man  of  his  age  he  showed  an  inconceivable 
degree  of  naivett,  and  went  so  far  as  to  try  to  induce  the 
directors  of  the  Opera  in  Petersburg  to  have  Vakoula  per- 
formed before  the  result  of  the  competition  was  decided. 
From  the  letter  which  I  give  below,  it  is  easy  to  see  how 
little  he  thought  at  the  moment  of  the  injustice  he  was 
inflicting  upon  the  other  competitors,  and  how  imperfectly 
he  realised  the  importance  of  silence  in  such  an  affair  as 
a  competition,  in  which  anonymity  is  the  first  condition 
of  impartial  judgment. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  159 

To  E.  Napravnik. 

' '  October  19^(31^),  1874. 

"  I  have  learnt  to-day  that  you  and  the  Grand  Duke  are 
much  displeased  at  my  efforts  to  get  my  opera  performed 
independently  of  the  decision  of  the  jury.  I  very  much 
regret  that  my  strictly  private  communication  to  you  and 
Kondratiev  should  have  been  brought  before  the  notice  of 
the  Grand  Duke,  who  may  now  think  I  am  unwilling  to 
submit  to  the  terms  of  the  competition.  The  matter  can 
be  very  simply  explained.  I  had  erroneously  supposed 
that  August  ist  (i3th),  1874,  was  the  last  day  upon  which 
the  compositions  could  be  sent  in  to  the  jury,  and  I 
hurried  over  the  completion  of  my  work.  Only  on  my 
return  to  Moscow  did  I  discover  'my  mistake,  and  that 
I  must  wait  more  than  a  year  for  the  decision  of  the 
judges.  In  my  impatience  to  have  my  work  performed 
(which  is  far  more  to  me  than  any  money)  I  inquired, 
in  reply  to  a  letter  of  Kondratiev's — whether  it  might 
not  be  possible  to  get  my  work  brought  out  independently 
of  the  prize  competition.  I  asked  him  to  talk  it  over  with 
you  and  give  me  a  reply.  Now  I  see  that  I  have  made 
a  stupid  mistake,  because  I  have  no  rights  over  the  libretto 
of  the  opera.  You  need  only  have  told  Kondratiev  to 
write  and  say  I  was  a  fool,  instead  of  imputing  to  me  some 
ulterior  motive  which  I  have  never  had.  I  beg  you  to  put 
aside  all  such  suspicions,  and  to  reassure  the  Grand  Duke, 
who  is  very  much  annoyed,  so  Rubinstein  tells  me. 

"  Let  me  express  my  thanks  for  having  included  The 
Tempest  in  your  repertory.  I  must  take  this  opportunity 
of  setting  right  a  little  mistake  in  the  instrumentation. 
I  noticed  in  the  introduction,  where  all  the  strings  are 
divided  into  three,  and  each  part  has  its  own  rhythm,  that 
the  first  violins  sounded  too  loud — first,  because  they  are 
more  powerful  than  the  others,  and  secondly,  because  they 
are  playing  higher  notes.  As  it  is  desirable  that  no  dis- 
tinct rhythm  should  be  heard  in  these  particular  passages, 
please  be  so  kind  as  to  make  the  first  violins  play///  and 
the  others  simply  /." 


160  LIFE   AND    LETTERS    OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky, 

"  October  2<)th  (November  ioth}. 

"Just  imagine,  Modi,  that  up  to  the  present  moment 
I  am  still  slaving  at  the  pianoforte  arrangement  of  my 
opera.  ...  I  have  no  time  for  answering  all  my  letters. 
Many  thanks  for  both  yours ;  I  am  delighted  to  find  that 
you  write  with  the  elegance  of  a  Sevigne.  Joking  apart, 
you  have  a  literary  vein,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  if 
it  proved  strong  enough  to  make  an  author  of  you.  Then, 
at  last,  I  might  obtain  a  good  libretto,  for  it  seems  a  hope- 
less business  ;  one  seeks  and  seeks,  and  finds  nothing 
suitable.  Berg,  the  poet,  (editor  of  the  Grajdanin,  the 
Niva,  and  other  Russian  publications),  suggested  to  me 
a  subject  from  the  period  of  the  Hussites  and  Taborites. 
I  inquired  if  he  had  any  decided  plan.  Not  in  the  least ; 
he  liked  the  idea  of  their  singing  hymns ! !  !  I  would  give 
anything  just  now  to  get  a  good  historical  libretto — not 
Russian. 

"  .  .  .  I  sit  at  home  a  good  deal,  but  unfortunately  I  do 
not  get  much  time  for  reading.  I  work  or  play.  I  have 
studied  Boris  Godounov  and  The  Demon  thoroughly.  As 
to  Moussorgsky's  music,  it  may  go  to  the  devil  for  all 
I  care :  it  is  the  commonest,  lowest  parody  of  music. 
In  The  Demon  I  have  found  some  beautiful  things,  but 
a  good  deal  of  padding,  too.  On  Sunday  the  Russian 
Quartet,  that  has  brought  out  my  quartet  in  D,  is  playing 
here. 

"I  am  glad  my  second  quartet  finds  favour  with  you 
and  Mademoiselle  Maloziomov.1  It  is  my  best  work  ;  not 
one  of  them  has  come  to  me  so  easily  and  fluently  as  this. 
I  completed  it  as  it  were  at  one  sitting.  I  am  surprised 
the  public  do  not  care  for  it,  for  I  have  always  thought, 
among  this  class  of  works,  it  had  the  best  chance  of  success." 

I  cannot  understand  how  my  brother  can  have  inferred 
from  my  letter  that  the  quartet  had  no  success.  It  must 

1  A  fellow-student  of  Tchaikovsky's,  dame  de  compagnie  of  Anton  Rubin- 
stein's class  and  the  intimate  friend  of  the  masler.  Afterwards  teacher  of 
pianoforte  at  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatoire. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  161 

have  pleased,  since  it  was  repeated  at  least  once  during  the 
season.  Cui  spoke  of  it  as  a  "beautiful,  talented,  fluent 
work,  which  showed  originality  and  invention."  Laroche 
considered  it  "  more  serious  and  important  than  the  first 
quartet " ;  and  Famitzin  thought  it  showed  "  marked  pro- 
gress. The  first  movement  displayed  as  much  style  as 
Beethoven's  A  minor  quartet." 

On  November  1st  (i3th)  Napravnik  conducted  the  first 
performance  of  The  Tempest  in  St.  Petersburg. 

From  V.  V.  Stassov  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  i$th  (2$t/i),  10  a.m. 

"I  have  just  come  from  the  rehearsal  for  Saturday's 
concert.  Your  Tempest  was  played  for  the  first  time. 
Rimsky-Korsakov  and  I  sat  alone  in  the  empty  hall  and 
overflowed  with  delight. 

"  Your  Tempest  is  fascinating  !  Unlike  any  other  work  ! 
The  tempest  itself  is  not  remarkable,  or  new  ;  Prospero, 
too,  is  nothing  out  of  the  way,  and  at  the  close  you  have 
made  a  very  commonplace  cadenza,  such  as  one  might 
find  in  the  finale  of  an  Italian  opera — these  are  three 
blemishes.  But  all  the  rest  is  a  marvel  of  marvels ! 
Caliban,  Ariel,  the  love-scene — all  belong  to  the  highest 
creations  of  art.  In  both  love-scenes,  what  passion,  what 
languor,  what  beauty !  I  know  nothing  to  compare  with 
it.  The  wild,  uncouth  Caliban,  the  wonderful  flights  of 
Ariel — these  are  creations  of  the  first  order. 

"  In  this  scene  the  orchestration  is  enchanting. 

"  Rimsky  and  I  send  you  our  homage  and  heartiest 
congratulations  upon  the  completion  of  such  a  fine  piece 
of  workmanship.  The  day  after  to-morrow  (Friday)  we 
shall  attend  the  rehearsal  again.  We  could  not  keep 
away.  .  .  ." 

The  Tempest  not  only  pleased  Stassov  and  "  The  Band," 
but  won  recognition  even  in  the  hostile  camp.  Laroche 
alone  was  dissatisfied.  He  considered  that  in  his  programme 
music  Tchaikovsky  approached  Litolff  as  regards  form  and 
instrumentation,  and  Schumann  and  Glinka  as  regards 

M 


162  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

harmony.  The  Tempest  would  not  bear  criticism  as  an 
organic  whole.  "  Beautiful,  very  beautiful,  are  the  details," 
he  continues,  "  but  even  these  are  not  all  on  a  level ;  for 
instance,  the  tempest  itself  is  not  nearly  so  impressive  as 
in  Berlioz's  fantasia  on  the  same  subject.  Tchaikovsky's 
storm  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  noisy  orchestration,  which 
is,  indeed,  of  so  deafening  a  character  that  the  specialist 
becomes  curious  to  discover  by  what  technical  means  the 
composer  has  succeeded  in  concocting  such  a  pande- 
monium." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  2ist  (December  $rd}. 

"  Toly,  your  general  silence  makes  me  uneasy.  I  begin 
to  think  something  serious  has  happened,  or  one  of  you  is 
ill.  I  am  particularly  puzzled  about  Modeste.  I  am  aware 
that  my  Tempest  was  performed  a  few  days  ago.  Why 
does  no  one  write  a  word  about  it?  After  my  quartet, 
Modeste  wrote  at  considerable  length,  and  also  Made- 
moiselle Maloziomov.  Now — not  a  soul,  except  Stassov. 
Most  strange ! 

"  I  am  now  completely  absorbed  in  the  composition  of 
a  pianoforte  concerto.  I  am  very  anxious  Rubinstein 
should  play  it  at  his  concert.  The  work  progresses  very 
slowly,  and  does  not  turn  out  well.  However,  I  stick  to 
my  intentions,  and  hammer  pianoforte  passages  out  of  my 
brain  :  the  result  is  nervous  irritability.  For  this  reason  I 
should  like  to  take  a  trip  to  Kiev  for  the  sake  of  the  rest, 
although  this  city  has  lost  nine-tenths  of  its  charms  for 
me  now  Toly  does  not  live  there.  For  this  reason,  too,  I 
hate  The  Oprichnik  with  all  my  heart.1  .  .  . 

"To-morrow  the  overture  to  my  'unfinished  opera'  will 
be  given  here." 

The  "  unfinished  opera  "  is  none  other  than  Vakoula  the 
Smith.  The  overture  had  no  success,  but  Tchaikovsky 
received  the  customary  fee  of  300  roubles  from  the  Musical 
Society. 

1  Tchaikovsky  had  to  visit  Kiev  for  the  first  performance  of  The  Oprichnik 
in  that  city. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  163 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"November  26th  (December  Sth). 

"...  You  do  not  write  a  word  (about  The  Tempest\  and 
Maloziomova  is  silent  too.  Laroche's  criticism  has  enraged 
me.  With  what  schadenfreude  he  points  out  that  I  imitate 
Litolff,  Schumann,  Berlioz,  Glinka,  and  God  knows  whom 
besides.  As  though  I  could  do  nothing  but  compile !  I 
am  not  hurt  that  he  does  not  like  The  Tempest.  I  expected 
as  much,  and  I  am  quite  contented  that  he  should  merely 
praise  the  details  of  the  work.  It  is  the  general  tone  of 
his  remarks  that  annoys  me ;  the  insinuation  that  I  have 
borrowed  every  thing  from  other  composers  and  have  nothing 
of  my  own.  .  .  ." 

The  hyper-sensitiveness  which  Tchaikovsky  shows  in 
this  letter  is  a  symptom  of  that  morbid  condition  of  mind, 
of  which  more  will  be  said  as  the  book  advances. 

On  December  Qth  Tchaikovsky  attended  the  first  per- 
formance of  The  Oprichnik  at  Kiev,  and  wrote  an  account 
of  the  event  for  the  Russky  Viedomosti.  The  opera  had  a 
great  success,  and  remained  in  the  repertory  of  the  Kiev 
Opera  House  throughout  the  entire  season. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

11  January  6th  (iSth)  1875. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  with  your  newspaper  article.  You 
complain  that  writing  comes  to  you  with  difficulty,  and 
that  you  have  to  search  for  every  phrase.  But  do  you 
really  suppose  anything  can  be  accomplished  without 
trouble  and  discipline  ?  I  often  sit  for  hours  pen  in  hand, 
and  have  no  idea  how  to  begin  my  articles.  I  think  I 
shall  never  hammer  anything  out ;  and  afterwards  people 
praise  the  fluency  and  ease  of  the  writing !  Remember 
what  pains  Zaremba's  exercises  cost  me.  Do  you  forget 
how  in  the  summer  of  '66  I  worked  my  nerves  to  pieces 
over  my  First  Symphony?  And  even  now  I  often  gnaw 
my  nails  to  the  quick,  smoke  any  number  of  cigarettes, 


164  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

and  pace  up  and  down  my  room  for  long,  before  I  can 
evolve  a  particular  motive  or  theme.  At  other  times 
writing  comes  easily,  thoughts  seem  to  flow  and  chase 
each  other  as  they  go.  All  depends  upon  one's  mood  and 
condition  of  mind.  But  even  when  we  are  not  disposed 
for  it  we  must  force  ourselves  to  work.  Otherwise  nothing 
can  be  accomplished. 

"  You  write  of  being  out  of  spirits.  Believe  me,  I  am 
the  same." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"January  ^th  (2\sf). 

"  I  cannot  endure  holidays.  On  ordinary  days  I  work 
at  fixed  hours,  and  everything  goes  on  like  a  machine.  On 
holidays  the  pen  falls  from  my  hand  of  its  own  accord — I 
want  to  be  with  those  who  are  dear  to  me,  to  pour  out  my 
heart  to  them  ;  and  then  I  am  overcome  by  a  sense  of 
loneliness,  of  desolation.  ...  It  is  not  merely  that  there 
is  no  one  here  I  can  really  call  my  friend  (like  Laroche  or 
Kondratiev),  but  also  during  these  holidays  I  cannot  shake 
off  the  effects  of  a  cruel  blow  to  my  self-esteem — which 
comes  from  none  others  than  Nicholas  Rubinstein  and 
Hubert.  When  you  consider  that  these  two  are  my  best 
friends,  and  in  all  Moscow  no  one  should  feel  more  interest 
in  my  compositions  than  they,  you  will  understand  how  I 
have  suffered.  A  remarkable  fact !  Messrs.  Cui,  Stassov, 
and  Co.  have  shown,  on  many  occasions,  that  they  take 
far  more  interest  in  me  than  my  so-called  friends !  Cui 
wrote  me  a  very  nice  letter  a  few  days  ago.  From 
Korsakov,  too,  I  have  received  a  letter  which  touched  me 
deeply.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  feel  very  desolate  here,  and  if  it  were 
not  for  my  work,  I  should  become  altogether  depressed. 
In  my  character  lurk  such  timidity  of  other  people,  so 
much  shyness  and  distrust — in  short,  so  many  character- 
istics which  make  me  more  and  more  misanthropical. 
Imagine,  nowadays,  I  am  often  drawn  towards  the  mon- 
astic life,  or  something  similar.  Do  not  fancy  I  am 
physically  out  of  health.  I  am  quite  well,  sleep  well,  eat 
even  better  ;  I  am  only  in  rather  a  sentimental  frame  of 
mind — nothing  more." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  165 

Tchaikovsky  has  told  so  well  the  tale  of  Rubinstein's 
injury  to  his  self-esteem  in  one  of  his  subsequent  letters 
to  Frau  von  Meek,  that  I  think  it  advisable  to  publish 
the  entire  letter  in  this  particular  chapter  of  the  book. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REUO,  January  z\st  (February  2nd),  1878. 

".  .  .  In  December,  1874,  I  had  written  a  pianoforte 
concerto.  As  I  am  not  a  pianist,  it  was  necessary  to 
consult  some  virtuoso  as  to  what  might  be  ineffective, 
impracticable,  and  ungrateful  in  my  technique.  I  needed 
a  severe,  but  at  the  same  time  friendly,  critic  to  point  out 
in  my  work  these  external  blemishes  only.  Without  going 
into  details,  I  must  mention  the  fact  that  some  inward 
voice  warned  me  against  the  choice  of  Nicholas  Rubin- 
stein as  a  judge  of  the  technical  side  of  my  composition. 
However,  as  he  was  not  only  the  best  pianist  in  Moscow, 
but  also  a  first-rate  all-round  musician,  and,  knowing  that 
he  would  be  deeply  offended  if  he  heard  I  had  taken  my 
concerto  to  anyone  else,  I  decided  to  ask  him  to  hear  the 
work  and  give  me  his  opinion  upon  the  solo  parts.  It  was 
on  Christmas  Eve,  1874.  We  were  invited  to  Albrecht's 
house,  and,  before  we  went,  Nicholas  Rubinstein  proposed 
I  should  meet  him  in  one  of  the  class-rooms  at  the  Con- 
servatoire to  go  through  the  concerto.  I  arrived  with  my 
manuscript,  and  Rubinstein  and  Hubert  soon  appeared. 
The  latter  is  a  very  worthy,  clever  man,  but  without  the 
least  self-assertion.  Moreover,  he  is  exceedingly  garrulous, 
and  needs  a  string  of  words  to  say  '  yes '  or  *  no.'  He  is 
incapable  of  giving  his  opinion  in  any  decisive  form,  and 
generally  lets  himself  be  pulled  over  to  the  strongest  side. 
I  must  add,  however,  that  this  is  not  from  cowardice,  but 
merely  from  lack  of  character. 

"  I  played  the  first  movement.  Never  a  word,  never  a 
single  remark.  Do  you  know  the  awkward  and  ridiculous 
sensation  of  putting  before  a  friend  a  meal  which  you  have 
cooked  yourself,  which  he  eats — and  holds  his  tongue? 
Oh,  for  a  single  word,  for  friendly  abuse,  for  anything  to 
break  the  silence  !  For  God's  sake  say  something  /  But 
Rubinstein  never  opened  his  lips.  He  was  preparing  his 


1 66  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

thunderbolt,  and  Hubert  was  waiting  to  see  which  way 
the  wind  would  blow.  I  did  not  require  a  judgment  of 
my  work  from  the  artistic  side ;  simply  from  the  technical 
point  of  view.  Rubinstein's  silence  was  eloquent.  '  My 
dear  friend,'  he  seemed  to  be  saying  to  himself,  '  how  can 
I  speak  of  the  details,  when  the  work  itself  goes  entirely 
against  the  grain  ?  "  I  gathered  patience,  and  played  the 
concerto  straight  through  to  the  end.  Still  silence. 

" '  Well  ? '  I  asked,  and  rose  from  the  piano.  Then  a 
torrent  broke  from  Rubinstein's  lips.  Gentle  at  first, 
gathering  volume  as  it  proceeded,  and  finally  bursting  into 
the  fury  of  a  Jupiter-Tonans.  My  concerto  was  worthless, 
absolutely  unplayable ;  the  passages  so  broken,  so  dis- 
connected, so  unskilfully  written,  that  they  could  not  even 
be  improved ;  the  work  itself  was  bad,  trivial,  common  ; 
here  and  there  I  had  stolen  from  other  people;  only 
one  or  two  pages  were  worth  anything ;  all  the  rest  had 
better  be  destroyed,  or  entirely  rewritten.  '  For  instance, 
that  ? '  '  And  what  meaning  is  there  in  this  ? '  Here  the 
passages  were  caricatured  on  the  piano.  'And  look  there ! 
Is  it  possible  that  anyone  could  ? '  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  But  the 
chief  thing  I  cannot  reproduce :  the  tone  in  which  all  this 
was  said.  An  independent  witness  of  this  scene  must  have 
concluded  I  was  a  talentless  maniac,  a  scribbler  with  no 
notion  of  composing,  who  had  ventured  to  lay  his  rubbish 
before  a  famous  man.  Hubert  was  quite  overcome  by  my 
silence,  and  was  surprised,  no  doubt,  that  a  man  who  had 
already  written  so  many  works,  and  was  professor  of  com- 
position at  the  Conservatoire,  could  listen  calmly  and  with- 
out contradiction  to  such  a  jobation,  such  as  one  would 
hardly  venture  to  address  to  a  student  before  having  gone 
through  his  work  very  carefully.  Then  he  began  to  com- 
ment upon  Rubinstein's  criticism,  and  to  agree  with  it, 
although  he  made  some  attempt  to  soften  the  harshness 
of  his  judgment.  I  was  not  only  astounded,  but  deeply 
mortified,  by  the  whole  scene.  I  require  friendly  counsel 
and  criticism  ;  I  shall  always  be  glad  of  it,  but  there  was 
no  trace  of  friendliness  in  the  whole  proceedings.  It  was 
a  censure  delivered  in  such  a  form  that  it  cut  me  to  the 
quick.  I  left  the  room  without  a  word  and  went  upstairs. 
I  could  not  have  spoken  for  anger  and  agitation.  Presently 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  167 

Rubinstein  came  to  me  and,  seeing  how  upset  I  was,  called 
me  into  another  room.  There  he  repeated  that  my  con- 
certo was  impossible,  pointed  out  many  places  where  it 
needed  to  be  completely  revised,  and  said  if  I  would  suit 
the  concerto  to  his  requirements,  he  would  bring  it  out  at 
his  concert.  '  I  shall  not  alter  a  single  note/  I  replied, '  I 
shall  publish  the  work  precisely  as  it  stands.'  This  inten- 
tion I  actually  carried  out." 

Not  only  did  Tchaikovsky  publish  the  concerto  in  its 
original  form,  but  he  scratched  out  Rubinstein's  name 
from  the  dedication  and  replaced  it  by  that  of  Hans  von 
Billow.  Personally,  Biilow  was  unknown  to  him,  but  he 
had  heard  from  Klindworth  that  the  famous  pianist  took  a 
lively  interest  in  his  compositions,  and  had  helped  to  make 
them  known  in  Germany. 

Biilow  was  flattered  by  the  dedication,  and,  in  a  long  and 
grateful  letter,  praised  the  concerto  very  highly — in  direct 
opposition  to  Rubinstein — saying,  that  of  all  Tchaikovsky's 
works  with  which  he  was  acquainted  this  was  "the  most 
perfect." 

"  The  ideas,"  he  wrote, "  are  so  lofty,  strong,  and  original. 
The  details,  which  although  profuse,  in  no  way  obscure 
the  work  as  a  whole,  are  so  interesting.  The  form  is  so 
perfect,  mature,  and  full  of  style — in  the  sense  that  the  in- 
tention and  craftsmanship  are  everywhere  concealed.  I 
should  grow  weary  if  I  attempted  to  enumerate  all  the 
qualities  of  your  work — qualities  which  compel  me  to  con- 
gratulate, not  only  the  composer,  but  all  those  who  will 
enjoy  the  work  in  future,  either  actively  or  passively 
(receptivemeni)." 

I  have  already  mentioned  that  Tchaikovsky,  in  spite  of 
a  nature  fundamentally  noble  and  generous,  was  not  al- 
together free  from  rancour.  The  episode  of  the  pianoforte 
concerto  proves  this.  It  was  long  before  he  could  forgive 
Rubinstein's  cruel  criticism,  and  this  influenced  their 
friendly  relations.  It  is  evident  from  the  style  of  his  letter 


168  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  from  the  lively  narration  of  every 
episode  and  detail  of  the  affair,  that  the  wound  still  smarted 
as  severely  as  when  it  had  been  inflicted  three  years 
earlier. 

In  1878  Nicholas  Rubinstein  entirely  healed  the  breach, 
and  removed  all  grounds  of  ill-feeling  when,  with  true 
nobility  and  simplicity,  recognising  the  injustice  he  had 
done  to  the  concerto  in  the  first  instance,  he  studied  and 
played  it,  abroad  and  in  Russia,  with  all  the  genius  and 
artistic  insight  of  which  he  was  capable. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

" March  qth  (2isf). 

"  The  jester  Fate  has  willed  that  for  the  last  ten  years 
I  should  live  apart  from  all  who  are  dear  to  me.  ...  If  you 
have  any  powers  of  observation,  you  will  have  noticed  that 
my  friendship  with  Rubinstein  and  the  other  gentlemen  of 
the  Conservatoire  is  simply  based  on  the  circumstance  of 
our  being  colleagues,  and  that  none  of  them  give  me  the 
tenderness  and  affection  of  which  I  constantly  stand  in 
need.  Perhaps  I  am  to  blame  for  this  ;  I  am  very  slow  in 
forming  new  ties.  However  this  may  be,  I  suffer  much  for 
lack  of  someone  I  care  for  during  these  periods  of  hypo- 
chondria. All  this  winter  I  have  been  depressed  to  the 
verge  of  despair,  and  often  wished  myself  dead.  Now  the 
spring  is  here  the  melancholy  has  vanished,  but  I  know  it 
will  return  in  greater  intensity  with  each  winter  to  come, 
and  so  I  have  made  up  mind  to  live  away  from  Moscow  all 
next  year.  Where  1  shall  go  I  cannot  say,  but  I  must 
have  entire  change  of  scene  and  surroundings.  .  .  .  Prob- 
ably you  will  have  read  of  Laub's  death  in  the  papers." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"March  12/^(24^). 

"  I  see  that  Kondratiev  has  been  giving  you  an  over- 
coloured  account  of  my  hypochondriacal  state.  I  have 
suffered  all  the  winter,  but  my  physical  health  is  not  in  the 
least  impaired.  .  .  .  Probably  I  wrote  to  Kondratiev  in  a 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  169 

fit  of  depression,  and  should  find  my  account  very  much 
exaggerated  if  I  were  to  read  the  letter  now.  You  seem 
inclined  to  reproach  me  for  being  more  frank  with  Kon- 
dratiev  than  with  you.  That  is  because  I  love  you  and 
Anatol  ten  times  more  than  I  love  him ;  not  that  he  does 
not  like  me,  but  only  in  so  far  as  I  do  not  interfere  with 
his  comfort,  which  is  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  world 
to  him.  If  I  had  confided  my  state  to  you,  or  Anatol,  you 
would  have  taken  my  troubles  too  much  to  heart;  whereas 
Kondratiev  would  certainly  not  let  them  cause  him  any 
anxiety.  As  to  what  you  say  about  my  antipathy  towards 
you,  I  pass  it  by  as  a  joke.  Upon  what  do  you  found  your 
supposition?  It  makes  me  angry  to  see  that  you  are  not 
free  from  any  of  my  own  faults — that  much  is  certainly 
true.  I  wish  I  could  find  any  of  my  idiosyncrasies  miss- 
ing in  you — but  I  cannot.  You  are  too  like  me :  when  I 
am  vexed  with  you,  I  am  vexed  with  myself,  for  you  are 
my  mirror,  in  which  I  see  reflected  the  true  image  of  all  my 
own  weaknesses.  From  this  you  can  conclude  that  if  you 
are  antipathetic  to  me,  this  antipathy  proceeds  fundament- 
ally from  myself.  Ergo — you  are  a  fool,  which  no  one 
ever  doubted.  Anatol  wrote  me  a  letter  very  like  yours. 
Both  letters  were  like  a  healing  ointment  to  my  suffering 
spirit.  .  .  .  The  death  of  Laub  has  been  a  terrible  grief  to 


Following  upon  these  letters,  it  becomes  necessary  to 
give  some  account  of  the  mental  and  moral  disorder  which 
attacked  Tchaikovsky  during  the  course  of  this  season,  and 
gradually  took  firmer  hold  upon  him,  until  in  1877  it 
reached  a  terrible  crisis  which  nearly  proved  fatal  to  his 
existence. 

The  desire  for  liberty,  the  longing  to  cast  off  all  the 
fetters  which  were  a  hindrance  to  his  creative  work,  now 
began  to  assume  the  character  of  an  undeclared,  but 
chronic,  disease,  which  only  showed  itself  now  and  again 
in  complaints  against  destiny,  in  poetical  dreams  of  "a 
calm,  quiet  home,"  of  "  a  peaceful  and  happy  existence." 
Such  aspirations  came  and  went,  according  to  the  im- 


i;o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

pressions  and  interests  which  filled  his  mind  and  imagina- 
tion. If  we  read  the  letters  of  this  period  carefully,  we 
cannot  fail  to  observe  how  every  fluctuation  in  his  circum- 
stances influenced  his  spiritual  condition.  We  see  it  when 
he  separated  from  Rubinstein  and  started  a  home  of  his 
own.  His  independence,  his  new  friendships,  once  more 
reconciled  him  to  existence,  and  his  affection  for  Moscow — 
or  at  least  for  the  life  it  afforded — then  reached  its  climax. 
For  a  little  while  his  longings  for  something  better  were 
stifled.  But  as  early  as  1872  his  dissatisfaction  and  desire 
to  escape  from  his  surroundings  make  themselves  felt ; 
although  only  infrequently  and  lightly  expressed. 

In  November  1873,  we  find  him  speaking  frankly  of  his 
disenchantment  with  his  Moscow  friends,  and  complaining 
of  his  isolation  and  the  lack  of  anyone  who  understood 
him.  So  far,  these  were  only  recurrent  symptoms  of  a 
chronic  malady. 

We  see  that  in  the  spring  of  1 874,  when  he  was  away  from 
Moscow  and  from  the  friends  of  whom  he  had  complained, 
he  wished  for  their  society  again,  wrote  to  them  in  affection- 
ate terms,  and,  during  the  whole  of  his  visit  to  Petersburg, 
as  later  on  to  Italy,  he  was  always  looking  forward  to  his 
return  to  "  dear  Moscow,  where  alone  I  can  be  happy." 

By  1875  the  chronic  malady  had  made  considerable 
progress.  It  did  not  return  at  intervals  as  heretofore,  but 
had  become  a  constant  trouble.  According  to  his  own 
account,  he  was  depressed  all  the  winter,  sometimes  to  the 
verge  of  despair.  He  felt  he  had  reached  a  turning-point 
in  his  existence,  similar  to  that  in  the  sixties.  But  then 
the  desired  goal  had  been  his  musical  career,  whereas  now, 
it  was  "  to  live  as  he  pleased." 

Tchaikovsky  now  resembled  those  invalids  who  do  not 
recognise  the  true  cause  of  their  sufferings,  and  therefore 
have  recourse  to  the  wrong  treatment.  He  believed  the 
reason  for  his  state  lay  in  the  absence  of  intimate  friends, 
and  that  his  one  chance  of  a  cure  was  to  be  found  among 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  171 

"  those  who  were  dear  to  him  "  and  "  who  alone  could  save 
him  from  the  torments  of  solitude"  from  which  he  suffered. 
I  lay  stress  upon  this  error  of  Tchaikovsky's,  because,  be- 
coming more  and  more  of  a  fixed  idea,  it  finally  led  the 
composer  to  take  an  insane  step  which  almost  proved  his 
undoing. 

One  symptom  of  Tchaikovsky's  condition  was  the  morbid 
sensibility  of  his  artistic  temperament.  Even  before  the 
episode  of  the  Bt?  minor  concerto,  he  chanced  one  day  to 
play  part  of  Vakoula  the  Smith  before  some  of  his  friends. 

"  He  was  too  nervous  to  do  justice  to  the  work,"  says 
Kashkin,  "and  rendered  the  music  in  a  pointless  and 
spiritless  fashion,  which  produced  an  unfavourable  im- 
pression upon  his  little  audience.  Tchaikovsky,  observing 
the  cool  attitude  of  his  hearers,  played  the  opera  hurriedly 
through  to  the  end  and  left  the  piano,  annoyed  by  our  lack 
of  appreciation." 

At  any  other  time  such  criticism  would  have  been  a 
momentary  annoyance,  soon  forgotten.  But  just  then, 
following  upon  his  keen  disappointment  in  The  Oprichnik 
and  the  exaggerated  hopes  he  had  set  upon  Vakoula,  he 
was  much  mortified  at  this  reception  of  his  "favourite 
child."  Not  only  was  he  annoyed,  but  he  considered  him- 
self affronted  by  what  seemed  to  him  an  unjust  criticism. 
Hence  the  bitterness  with  which,  at  that  period,  he  spoke 
of  his  Moscow  friends.  They,  however,  kept  the  same 
warmth  of  feeling  for  him,  as  was  amply  proved  during 
the  crisis  of  1877. 

With  the  coming  of  spring  Tchaikovsky's  depression 
passed  away,  and  he  spent  the  Easter  holidays  very 
happily  in  the  society  of  the  twins,  who  came  to  visit  him 
in  Moscow. 

On  May  4th  (i6th)  The  Oprichnik  was  performed  for 
the  first  time  in  Moscow.  But  all  the  composer's  thoughts 
were  now  concentrated  on  his  "  favourite  child,  Vakoula  the 


i;2  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Smith"  "You  cannot  imagine,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother 
Anatol,  "  how  much  I  reckon  upon  this  work.  I  think 
I  might  go  mad  if  it  failed  to  bring  me  luck.  I  do  not 
want  the  prize  —  I  despise  it,  although  money  is  no  bad 
thing  —  but  I  want  my  opera  to  be  performed." 

Shortly  before  leaving  Moscow  for  the  summer,  he  was 
commissioned  by  the  Imperial  Opera  to  write  a  musical 
ballet  entitled  The  Swan  Lake.  He  did  not  immediately 
set  to  work  upon  this  music,  but  went  to  Ussovo  at  the  end 
of  May,  where  he  began  his  Third  Symphony  in  D  major. 
Late  in  June  he  visited  his  friend  Kondratiev  at  Nizy,  where 
he  was  exclusively  occupied  with  the  orchestration  of  this 
symphony  until  July  I4th  (26th),  when  he  went  to  stay 
with  his  sister  Madame  Davidov  at  Verbovka.  By  August 
1st  the  symphony  was  finished,  and  Tchaikovsky  took  up 
the  ballet  music,  for  which  he  was  to  receive  a  fee  of  800 
roubles  (about  £80).  The  first  two  acts  were  ready  in 
a  fortnight. 

Verbovka,  the  Davidovs'  estate,  was  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Kamenka,  and  Tchaikovsky  was  so  fond  of  this 
spot  that  it  became  his  favourite  holiday  resort,  and  cast 
the  charms  of  Ussovo  entirely  in  the  shade.  The  summer 
of  1875  was  spent  not  only  in  the  society  of  his  sister  and 
her  family,  but  also  in  that  of  his  father  and  his  brother 
Anatol. 


XII 

1875-1876 

To  N.  A.  Rimsky-Korsakov. 

"Moscow,  September  loth  (22nd),  1875. 

"  MOST  HONOURED  NlCHOLAI  ANDREIEVICH,—  Thanks 
for  your  kind  letter.  You  must  know  how  I  admire  and 
bow  down  before  your  artistic  modesty  and  your  great 
strength  of  character  !  These  innumerable  counterpoints, 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  173 

these  sixty  fugues,  and  all  the  other  musical  intricacies 
which  you  have  accomplished — all  these  things,  from  a 
man  who  had  already  produced  a  Sadko  eight  years 
previously — are  the  exploits  of  a  hero.  I  want  to  pro- 
claim them  to  all  the  world.  I  am  astounded,  and  do  not 
know  how  to  express  all  my  respect  for  your  artistic 
temperament.  How  small,  poor,  self-satisfied  and  na'ive 
I  feel  in  comparison  with  you !  I  am  a  mere  artisan  in 
composition,  but  you  will  be  an  artist,  in  the  fullest  sense 
of  the  word.  I  hope  you  will  not  take  these  remarks 
as  flattery.  I  am  really  convinced  that  with  your  im- 
mense gifts — and  the  ideal  conscientiousness  with  which 
you  approach  your  work — you  will  produce  music  that 
must  far  surpass  all  which  so  far  has  been  composed  in 
Russia. 

"  I  await  your  ten  fugues  with  keen  impatience.  As  it 
will  be  almost  impossible  for  me  to  go  to  Petersburg  for 
some  time  to  come,  I  beg  you  to  rejoice  my  heart  by 
sending  them  as  soon  as  possible.  I  will  study  them 
thoroughly  and  give  you  my  opinion  in  detail.  .  .  .  The 
Opera  Direction  has  commissioned  me  to  write  music  for 
the  ballet  The  Swan  Lake.  I  accepted  the  work,  partly 
because  I  want  the  money,  but  also  because  I  have  long 
had  a  wish  to  try  my  hand  at  this  kind  of  music. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  how  the  decision 
upon  the  merits  of  the  (opera)  scores  will  go.  I  hope  you 
may  be  a  member  of  the  committee.  The  fear  of  being 
rejected — that  is  to  say,  not  only  losing  the  prize,  but  with 
it  all  possibility  of  seeing  my  Vakoula  performed — worries 
me  very  much. 

"Opinions  here  as  regards  Angela^-  are  most  contradic- 
tory. Two  years  ago  I  heard  Cui  play  the  first  act,  which 
produced  an  unsympathetic  impression  upon  me,  especially 
in  comparison  with  Ratcliff,  of  which  I  am  extremely 
fond." 

Contrary  to  custom,  Petersburg,  not  Moscow,  enjoyed 
the  first  hearing  of  Tchaikovsky's  latest  work.  At  the 
first  Symphony  Concert  of  the  Musical  Society,  on  De- 

1  An  opera  by  Caesar  Cui. 


174  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

cember  1st,  Professor  Kross  played  the  Pianoforte  Concerto. 
Both  composer  and  player  were  recalled,  but  at  the  same 
time  the  work  was  only  a  partial  success  with  the  public. 
The  Press,  with  one  exception,  was  unfavourably  disposed 
towards  it.  Famitzin  spoke  of  the  Concerto  as  "  brilliant 
and  grateful,  but  difficult  for  virtuosi."  All  the  other 
critics,  including  Laroche,  were  dissatisfied.  The  latter 
praised  the  Introduction  for  its  "clearness,  triumphal 
solemnity,  and  splendour,"  and  thought  the  other  move- 
ments did  not  display  the  melodic  charm  to  be  expected 
from  the  composer  of  The  Oprichnik  and  Romeo  and 
Juliet.  "  The  Concerto,"  he  continued,  "  was  ungrateful 
for  pianists,  and  would  have  no  future." 

At  the  first  Symphony  Concert  in  Moscow,  November 
7th  (iQth),  Tchaikovsky's  Third  Symphony  was  produced 
for  the  first  time  with  marked  success. 

To  N.  A.  Rimsky-Korsakov. 

"Moscow,  November  \2th  (24^),  1875. 

"MOST  HONOURED  NlCHOLAI  ANDREIEVICH, — To- 
day for  the  first  time  I  have  a  free  moment  in  which  to 
talk  to  you.  Business  first. 

"  i.  It  goes  without  saying  that  Rubinstein  will  be  much 
obliged  if  you  will  send  him  Antar}-  We  shall  await  the 
score  impatiently,  and  also  the  quartet,  which  interests  me 
very  much.  .  .  . 

"  2.  Jurgenson  will  be  glad  if  you  will  let  him  have  the 
quartet.  Have  I  explained  your  conditions  correctly? 
I  told  him  you  expected  a  fee  of  fifty  roubles,  and  the 
pianoforte  arrangement  was  to  be  made  at  his  expense. 
I  know  a  young  lady  here  who  arranged  my  second 
quartet  very  well.  So  if  your  wife  will  not  undertake  to 
do  it  herself,  we  might  apply  to  her.  .  .  . 

"  I  went  direct  from  the  station  to  the  rehearsal  of  my 
symphony.  It  seems  to  me  the  work  does  not  contain  any 
very  happy  ideas,  but,  as  regards  form,  it  is  a  step  in 

1  Rimsky-Korsakov's  Second  Symphony,  or  "  Eastern  Suite,"  Op  9. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  175 

advance.  I  am  best  pleased  with  the  first  movement,  and 
also  with  the  two  Scherzi,  the  second  of  which  is  very  diffi- 
cult, consequently  not  nearly  so  well  played  as  it  might 
have  been  if  we  could  have  had  more  rehearsals.  Our 
rehearsals  never  last  more  than  two,  hours  ;  we  have  three, 
it  is  true,  but  what  can  be  done  in  two  hours?  On  the 
whole,  however,  I  was  satisfied  with  the  performance.  .  .  . 
"...  A  few  days  ago  I  had  a  letter  from  Biilow,  en- 
closing a  number  of  American  press  notices  of  my  Piano- 
forte Concerto.  The  Americans  think  the  first  movement 
suffers  from  '  the  lack  of  a  central  idea  around  which 
to  assemble  such  a  host  of  musical  fantasies,  which  make 
up  the  breezy  and  ethereal  whole.'  The  same  critic  dis- 
covered in  the  finale  '  syncopation  on  the  trills,  spasmodic 
interruptions  of  the  subject,  and  thundering  octave  pas- 
sages ' !  Think  what  appetites  these  Americans  have : 
after  every  performance  Biilow  was  obliged  to  repeat  the 
entire  finale  !  Such  a  thing  could  never  happen  here." 

The  first  performance  of  the  Concerto  in  Moscow  took 
place  on  November  2ist  (December  3rd),  1875,  when  it 
was  played  by  the  young  pianist  Serge  Taneiev,  the 
favourite  pupil  of  N.  Rubinstein  and  Tchaikovsky.  Taneiev 
had  made  his  first  appearance  in  public  in  January  of  the 
same  year.  On  this  occasion  he  played  the  ungrateful 
Concerto  of  Brahms,  and  won  not  only  the  sympathy  of 
the  public,  but  the  admiration  of  connoisseurs.  Tchai- 
kovsky's account  of  Taneiev's  debut  is  not  quite  free  from 
affectionate  partiality,  but  it  is  so  characteristic  that  it 
deserves  quotation : — 

"  The  interest  of  the  Seventh  Symphony  concert  was 
enhanced  by  the  first  appearance  of  the  young  pianist 
Serge  Taneiev,  who  brilliantly  fulfilled  all  the  hopes  of  his 
teachers  on  this  occasion.  Besides  purity  and  strength  of 
touch,  grace,  and  ease  of  execution,  Taneiev  astonished 
everyone  by  his  maturity  of  intellect,  his  self-control,  and 
the  calm  objective  style  of  his  interpretation.  While 
possessing  all  the  qualities  of  his  master,  Taneiev  cannot 
be  regarded  as  a  mere  copyist.  He  has  his  own  artistic 


i;6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

individuality,  which  has  won  him  a  place  among  virtuosi 
from  the  very  outset  of  his  career.  .  .  ." 

Tchaikovsky  was  delighted  with  Taneiev's  rendering  of 
his  own  Concerto,  and  wrote  : — 

"  The  chief  feature  of  his  playing  lies  in  his  power  to 
grasp  the  composer's  intention  in  all  its  most  delicate  and 
minute  details,  and  to  realise  them  precisely  as  the  author 
heard  them  himself." 

In  November,  1875,  Camille  Saint-Saens  came  to  con- 
duct and  play  some  of  his  works  in  Moscow.  The  short, 
lively  man,  with  his  Jewish  type  of  features,  attracted 
Tchaikovsky  and  fascinated  him  not  only  by  his  wit  and 
original  ideas,  but  also  by  his  masterly  knowledge  of  his 
art.  Tchaikovsky  used  to  say  that  Saint-Saens  knew  how 
to  combine  the  grace  and  charm  of  the  French  school  with 
the  depth  and  earnestness  of  the  great  German  masters. 
Tchaikovsky  became  very  friendly  with  him,  and  hoped 
this  friendship  would  prove  very  useful  in  the  future.  It 
had  no  results,  however.  Long  afterwards  they  met  again 
as  comparative  strangers,  and  always  remained  so. 

During  Saint-Saens'  short  visit  to  Moscow  a  very  amus- 
ing episode  took  place.  One  day  the  friends  discovered 
they  had  a  great  many  likes  and  dislikes  in  common,  not 
merely  in  the  world  of  music,  but  in  other  respects.  In 
their  youth  both  had  been  enthusiastic  admirers  of  the 
ballet,  and  had  often  tried  to  imitate  the  art  of  the  dancers. 
This  suggested  the  idea  of  dancing  together,  and  they 
brought  out  a  little  ballet,  Pygmalion  and  Galatea,  on  the 
stage  of  the  Conservatoire.  Saint-Saens,  aged  forty,  played 
the  part  of  Galatea  most  conscientiously,  while  Tchai- 
kovsky, aged  thirty- five,  appeared  as  Pygmalion.  N. 
Rubinstein  formed  the  orchestra.  Unfortunately,  besides 
the  three  performers,  no  spectators  witnessed  this  singular 
entertainment. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  177 

The  fate  of  Vakoula  the  Smith  was  Tchaikovsky's  chief 
preoccupation  at  this  time.  The  jury  consisted  of  A. 
Kireiev,  Asantchevsky,  N.  Rubinstein,  Th.  Tolstoi,  Rim- 
sky-Korsakov,  Napravnik,  Laroche,  and  K.  Davidov. 

Tchaikovsky's  score,  so  Laroche  relates,  was  of  course 
copied  out  in  a  strange  autograph,  "  but  the  motto,  which 
was  identical  with  the  writing  in  the  parcel,  was  in 
Tchaikovsky's  own  hand.  'Ars  longa,  vita  brevis'  ran 
the  motto,  and  the  characteristic  features  of  the  writing 
were  well  known  to  us  all,  so  that  from  the  beginning 
there  was  not  the  least  room  for  doubt  that  Tchaikovsky 
was  the  composer  of  the  score.  But  even  if  he  had  not 
had  the  naivete  to  write  this  inscription  with  his  own 
hand,  the  style  of  the  work  would  have  proclaimed  his 
authorship.  As  the  Grand  Duke  remarked  laughingly, 
during  the  sitting  of  the  jury  :  ''Secret  de  la  comedie!  " 

The  result  of  the  prize  competition  was  very  much 
talked  of  in  Petersburg.  Long  before  the  decision  of  the 
jury  was  publicly  announced,  everyone  knew  that  their 
approval  of  Vakoula  was  unanimous. 

In  October  Rimsky-Korsakov  wrote  to  Tchaikovsky  as 
follows : — 

"  I  do  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  your  opera  will 
carry  off  the  prize.  To  my  mind,  the  operas  sent  in  bear 
witness  to  a  very  poor  state  of  things  as  regards  music 
here.  .  .  .  Except  your  work,  I  do  not  consider  there  is 
one  fit  to  receive  the  prize,  or  to  be  performed  in  public." 

Towards  the  end  of  October  the  individual  views  of 
the  jury  were  collected  in  a  general  decision,  and 
Tchaikovsky  received  a  letter  from  the  Grand  Duke 
Constantine  Nicholaevich,  in  his  own  handwriting,  con- 
gratulating him  as  the  prize-winner  of  the  competition. 

During  October  Modeste  Tchaikovsky  retired  from  the 
Government  service  in  order  to  become  private  tutor  to 
a  deaf  and  dumb  boy,  Nicholas  Konradi.  The  child's 

N 


i/8  LIFE   AND    LETTERS    OF 

parents  decided  to  send  young  Tchaikovsky  to  Lyons  for 
a  year,  to  study  a  special  system  of  education  for  deaf 
mutes. 

The  composer  and  his  brother  left  Russia  together 
towards  the  end  of  December.  "  Even  the  various  difficul- 
ties and  unpleasant  occurrences  of  this  trip  could  not 
damp  our  cheerful  spirits,"  says  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
My  delight  in  the  journey,  and  the  interest  I  felt  in  every- 
thing I  saw  "  abroad,"  infected  my  brother.  He  enjoyed 
my  pleasure,  laughed  at  the  innocence  of  his  inexperienced 
travelling  companion,  and  threw  himself  energetically  into 
the  part  of  guide  to  an  impressionable  tourist. 

From  Berlin  we  travelled  to  Geneva,  where  we  spent 
ten  days  with  my  sister  and  her  family  (the  Davidovs). 
Afterwards  we  went  on  to  Paris.  Here  my  brother  ex- 
perienced one  of  the  strongest  musical  impressions  of  his 
life. 

On  March  3rd  (iSth),  1873,  Bizet's  opera  Carmen  was 
given  for  the  first  time.  Vladimir  Shilovsky,  who  was  in 
Paris  at  the  time,  attended  this  performance.  Captivated 
by  the  work,  he  sent  the  pianoforte  score  to  his  teacher  in 
Moscow.  My  brother  was  never  so  completely  carried 
away  by  any  modern  composition  as  by  Carmen.  Bizet's 
death,  three  months  after  the  production  of  the  work,  only 
served  to  strengthen  his  almost  unwholesome  passion  for 
this  opera. 

During  our  visit  to  Paris  Carmen  was  being  played  at 
the  Opera  Comique.  We  went  to  hear  it,  and  I  never 
saw  Peter  Ilich  so  excited  over  any  performance.  This 
was  not  merely  due  to  the  music  and  the  piquant  orchestra- 
tion of  the  score,  which  he  now  heard  for  the  first  time, 
but  also  to  the  admirable  acting  of  Galli-Marie,  who  sang 
the  title-role.  She  reproduced  the  type  of  Carmen  with 
wonderful  realism,  and  at  the  same  time  managed  to 
combine  with  the  display  of  unbridled  passion  an  element 
of  mystical  fatalism  which  held  us  spell-bound. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  179 

Two  days  later  we  parted.  My  brother  returned  to 
Russia,  while  I  remained  in  France. 

On  January  25th  (February  6th)  the  Third  Symphony 
was  performed  in  Petersburg  under  Napravnik's  baton. 
Cui  criticised  it  in  the  following  words : — 

"  The  public  remained  cool  during  the  performance  of 
the  work,  and  applauded  very  moderately  after  each 
movement.  At  the  end,  however,  the  composer  was  en- 
thusiastically recalled.  This  symphony  must  be  taken 
seriously.  The  first  three  movements  are  the  best ;  the 
only  charm  of  the  fourth  being  its  sonority,  for  the  musical 
contents  are  poor.  The  fifth  movement,  a  polonaise,  is  the 
weakest.  On  the  whole  the  new  symphony  shows  talent, 
but  we  have  a  right  to  expect  more  from  Tchaikovsky." 

Laroche  said : — 

"  The  importance  and  power  of  the  music,  the  beauty 
and  variety  of  form,  the  nobility  of  style,  originality  and 
rare  perfection  of  technique,  all  contribute  to  make  this 
symphony  one  of  the  most  remarkable  musical  works 
produced  during  the  last  ten  years.  Were  it  to  be  played 
in  any  musical  centre  in  Germany,  it  would  raise  the 
name  of  the  Russian  musician  to  a  level  with  those  of 
the  most  famous  symphonic  composers  of  the  day." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  February  loth  (22nd). 

"  I  am  working  might  and  main  to  finish  a  quartet l 
which — you  may  remember — I  started  upon  in  Paris. 
Press  opinions  upon  my  symphony — Laroche  not  excepted 
— are  rather  cold.  They  all  consider  I  have  nothing  new 
to  say,  and  am  beginning  to  repeat  myself.  Can  this 
really  be  the  case  ?  After  finishing  the  quartet  I  will  rest 
for  a  time,  and  only  complete  my  ballet.  I  shall  not 
embark  upon  anything  new  until  I  have  decided  upon 
an  opera.  I  waver  between  two  subjects,  Ephraim  and 
Francesca.  I  think  the  latter  will  carry  the  day." 

1  No.  3,  Op.  30. 


i8o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Ephraim  was  a  libretto  written  by  Constantine  Shilovsky 
upon  a  love-tale  of  the  court  of  Pharaoh,  at  the  period  of 
the  Hebrew  captivity. 

Francesco,  da  Rimini  was  a  ready-made  libretto  by 
Zvantsiev,  which  had  been  suggested  to  Tchaikovsky  by 
Laroche.  It  was  based  upon  the  fifth  canto  of  Dante's 
Inferno. 

Neither  of  these  books  satisfied  the  composer.  After 
seeing  Carmen  he  only  cared  for  a  similar  subject:  a  libretto 
dealing  with  real  men  and  women  who  stood  in  closer  touch 
with  modern  life ;  a  drama  which  was  at  once  simple  and 
realistic. 

The  new  Quartet  No.  3  was  played  for  the  first  time 
at  a  concert  given  by  the  violinist  Grijimal,  March*  i8th. 
Later  on  it  was  repeated  at  a  chamber  music  evening  of 
the  Musical  Society.  On  both  occasions  its  success  was 
decisive. 

In  May  Tchaikovsky  was  out  of  health  and  was  ordered 
by  the  doctors  to  take  a  course  of  waters  at  Vichy.  He 
reached  Lyons  on  June  2/th  (July  9th),  where  he  met 
Modeste,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  brother's  pupil, 
to  whom  he  became  much  attached. 

His  first  impressions  of  Vichy  were  far  from  favourable, 
but  the  local  physician  persuaded  him  to  remain  at  least 
long  enough  for  a  "demi-cure,"  from  which  he  derived  great 
benefit.  He  then  rejoined  Modeste  and  young  Konradi 
for  a  short  time,  and  went  to  Bayreuth  at  the  end  of  July, 
where  a  lodging  had  been  secured  for  him  by  Karl  Klind- 
worth. 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  BAYREUTH,  August  2nd  (14^). 

"...  I  arrived  here  on  July  3ist  (August  I2th),  the  day 
before  the  performance.  Klindworth  met  me.  I  found  a 
number  of  well-known  people  here,  and  plunged  straight- 
way into  the  vortex  of  the  festival,  in  which  I  whirl  all  day 
long  like  one  possessed.  I  have  also  made  the  acquaintance 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  181 

of  Liszt,  who  received  me  most  amiably.  I  called  on  Wagner, 
who  no  longer  sees  anyone.  Yesterday  the  performance  of 
the  Rheingold  took  place.  From  the  scenic  point  of  view 
it  interested  me  greatly,  and  I  was  also  much  impressed  by 
the  truly  marvellous  staging  of  the  work.  Musically,  it  is 
inconceivable  nonsense,  in  which  here  and  there  occur 
beautiful,  and  even  captivating,  moments.  Among  the 
people  here  who  are  known  to  you  are  Rubinstein — with 
whom  I  am  living — Laroche  and  Cui. 

"  Bayreuth  is  a  tiny  little  town  in  which,  at  the  present 
moment,  several  thousand  people  are  congregated.  ...  I 
am  not  at  all  bored,  although  I  cannot  say  I  enjoy  my  visit 
here,  so  that  all  my  thoughts  and  efforts  are  directed  to 
getting  away  to  Russia,  via  Vienna,  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
hope  to  accomplish  this  by  Thursday." 

In  the  articles  Tchaikovsky  sent  to  the  Russky  Viedo- 
mosti,  he  describes  his  visit  to  Bayreuth  in  detail : — 

"  I  reached  Bayreuth  on  August  1 2th  (new  style),  the 
day  before  the  first  performance  of  the  first  part  of  the 
Trilogy.  The  town  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 
Crowds  of  people,  natives  and  strangers,  gathered  together 
literally  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  were  rushing  to  the 
railway-station  to  see  the  arrival  of  the  Emperor.  I  wit- 
nessed the  spectacle  from  the  window  of  a  neighbouring 
house.  First  some  brilliant  uniforms  passed  by,  then  the 
musicians  of  the  Wagner  Theatre,  in  procession,  with  Hans 
Richter,  the  conductor,  at  their  head ;  next  followed  the 
interesting  figure  of  the  '  Abbe '  Liszt,  with  the  fine,  charac- 
teristic head  I  have  so  often  admired  in  pictures;  and, 
lastly,  in  a  sumptuous  carriage,  the  serene  old  man,  Richard 
Wagner,  with  his  aquiline  nose  and  the  delicately  ironical 
smile  which  gives  such  a  characteristic  expression  to  the 
face  of  the  creator  of  this  cosmopolitan  and  artistic  festival. 
A  rousing  '  Hurrah '  resounded  from  thousands  of  throats 
as  the  Emperor's  train  entered  the  station.  The  old 
Emperor  stepped  into  the  carriage  awaiting  him,  and 
drove  to  the  palace.  Wagner,  who  followed  immediately 
in  his  wake,  was  greeted  by  the  crowds  with  as  much 
enthusiasm  as  the  Emperor.  What  pride,  what  overflowing 


1 82  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

emotions  must  have  filled  at  this  moment  the  heart  of  that 
little  man  who,  by  his  energetic  will  and  great  talent,  has 
defied  all  obstacles  to  the  final  realisation  of  his  artistic 
ideals  and  audacious  views ! 

"  I  made  a  little  excursion  through  the  streets  of  the 
town.  They  swarmed  with  people  of  all  nationalities,  who 
looked  very  much  preoccupied,  and  as  if  in  search  of 
something.  The  reason  of  this  anxious  search  I  discovered 
only  too  soon,  as  I  myself  had  to  share  it.  All  these  rest- 
less people,  wandering  through  the  town,  were  seeking  to 
satisfy  the  pangs  of  hunger,  which  even  the  fulness  of 
artistic  enjoyment  could  not  entirely  assuage.  The  little 
town  offers,  it  is  true,  sufficient  shelter  to  strangers,  but  it 
is  not  able  to  feed  all  its  guests.  So  it  happened  that,  even 
on  the  very  day  of  my  arrival,  I  learnt  what  'tthe  struggle 
for  existence'  can  mean.  There  are  very  few  hotels  in 
Bayreuth,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  visitors  find  accom- 
modation in  private  houses.  The  tables  d'hote  prepared 
in  the  inns  are  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  all  the  hungry  people ; 
one  can  only  obtain  a  piece  of  bread,  or  a  glass  of  beer, 
with  immense  difficulty,  by  dire  struggle,  or  cunning  strata- 
gem, or  iron  endurance.  Even  when  a  modest  place  at  a 
table  has  been  stormed,  it  is  necessary  to  wait  an  eternity 
before  the  long-desired  meal  is  served.  Anarchy  reigns  at 
these  meals ;  everyone  is  calling  and  shrieking,  and  the 
exhausted  waiters  pay  no  heed  to  the  rightful  claims  of  an 
individual.  Only  by  the  merest  chance  does  one  get  a 
taste  of  any  of  the  dishes.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
theatre  is  a  restaurant  which  advertises  a  good  dinner  at 
two  o'clock.  But  to  get  inside  it  and  lay  hold  of  anything 
in  that  throng  of  hungry  creatures  is  a  feat  worthy  of  a 
hero. 

"  I  have  dwelt  upon  this  matter  at  some  length  with  the 
design  of  calling  the  attention  of  my  readers  to  this  promi- 
nent feature  of  the  Bayreuth  Melomania.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  throughout  the  whole  duration  of  the  festival,  food 
forms  the  chief  interest  of  the  public ;  the  artistic  repre- 
sentations take  a  secondary  place.  Cutlets,  baked  potatoes, 
omelettes,  are  discussed  much  more  eagerly  than  Wagner's 
music. 

"  I  have  already  mentioned  that  the  representatives  of  all 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  183 

civilised  nations  were  assembled  in  Bayreuth.  In  fact, 
even  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  I  perceived  in  the  crowd 
many  leaders  of  the  musical  world  in  Europe  and  America. 
But  the  greatest  of  them,  the  most  famous,  were  con- 
spicuous by  their  absence.  Verdi,  Gounod,  Thomas, 
Brahms,  Anton  Rubinstein,  Raff,  Joachim,  Biilow  had  not 
come  to  Bayreuth.  Among  the  noted  Russian  musicians 
present  were  :  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  Cui,  Laroche,  Famitsin, 
Klindworth  (who,  as  is  well  known,  has  made  the  piano- 
forte arrangement  of  the  Wagner  Trilogy),  Frau  Walzeck, 
the  most  famous  professor  of  singing  in  Moscow,  and 
others. 

"  The  performance  of  the  RheingoldtoQ\i  place  on  August 
ist  (i3th),  at  7  p.m.  It  lasted  without  a  break  two  hours 
and  a  half.  The  other  three  parts,  Walkure,  Siegfried,  and 
Gotterdammerung)  will  be  given  with  an  hour's  interval, 
and  will  last  from  4  p.m.  to  10  p.m.  In  consequence  of 
the  indisposition  of  the  singer  Betz,  Siegfried  was  post- 
poned from  Tuesday  to  Wednesday,  so  that  the  first  cycle 
lasted  fully  five  days.  At  three  o'clock  we  take  our  way 
to  the  theatre,  which  stands  on  a  little  hill  rather  distant 
from  the  town.  That  is  the  most  trying  part  of  the  day, 
even  for  those  who  have  managed  to  fortify  themselves 
with  a  good  meal.  The  road  lies  uphill,  with  absolutely  no 
shade,  so  that  one  is  exposed  to  the  scorching  rays  of  the 
sun.  While  waiting  for  the  performance  to  begin,  the 
motley  troop  encamps  on  the  grass  near  the  theatre. 
Some  sit  over  a  glass  of  beer  in  the  restaurant.  Here 
acquaintances  are  made  and  renewed.  From  all  sides  one 
hears  complaints  of  hunger  and  thirst,  mingled  with  com- 
ments on  present  or  past  performances.  At  four  o'clock, 
to  the  minute,  the  fanfare  sounds,  and  the  crowd  streams 
into  the  theatre.  Five  minutes  later  all  the  seats  are 
occupied.  The  fanfare  sounds  again,  the  buzz  of  conver- 
sation is  stilled,  the  lights  turned  down,  and  darkness 
reigns  in  the  auditorium.  From  depths — invisible  to  the 
audience — in  which  the  orchestra  is  sunk  float  the  strains 
of  the  beautiful  overture ;  the  curtain  parts  to  either  side, 
and  the  performance  begins.  Each  act  lasts  an  hour  and 
a  half;  then  comes  an  interval,  but  a  very  disagreeable 
one,  for  the  sun  is  still  far  from  setting,  and  it  is  difficult 


1 84  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

to  find  any  place  in  the  shade.  The  second  interval,  on 
the  contrary,  is  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  day.  The 
sun  is  already  near  the  horizon ;  in  the  air  one  feels 
the  coolness  of  evening,  the  wooded  hills  around  and  the 
charming  little  town  in  the  distance  are  lovely.  Towards 
ten  o'clock  the  performance  comes  to  an  end.  .  .  ." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"VIENNA,  August  %th  (2oM),  1876. 

"  Bayreuth  has  left  me  with  disagreeable  recollections, 
although  my  artistic  ambition  was  flattered  more  than 
once.  It  appears  I  am  by  no  means  as  unknown  in 
Western  Europe  as  I  believed.  The  disagreeable  recollec- 
tions are  raised  by  the  uninterrupted  bustle  in  which  I  was 
obliged  to  take  part.  It  finally  came  to  an  end  on  Thurs- 
day. After  the  last  notes  of  the  Gotterdammenmg,  I  felt 
as  though  I  had  been  let  out  of  prison.  The  Nibelungen 
may  be  actually  a  magnificent  work,  but  it  is  certain  that 
there  never  was  anything  so  endlessly  and  wearisomely 
spun  out. 

"  From  Bayreuth  I  went  first  to  Nuremberg,  where  I 
spent  a  whole  day  and  wrote  the  notice  for  the  Russky 
Viedomosti.  Nuremberg  is  charming  !  I  arrived  in  Vienna 
to-day  and  leave  to-morrow  for  Verbovka." 

Laroche  contributes  the  following  account  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's visit  to  the  Bayreuth  festival : — 

"  The  effort  of  listening  and  gazing  during  the  immensely 
long  acts  of  the  Wagner  Trilogy  (especially  of  Rheingold 
and  the  first  part  of  G  otter ddmmerung,  which  both  last 
without  interval  for  two  hours),  the  sitting  in  a  close,  dark 
amphitheatre  in  tropical  heat,  the  sincere  endeavour  to 
understand  the  language  and  style  of  the  book  of  the 
words — which  is  so  clumsy  and  difficult  in  its  composition 
that  even  to  Germans  themselves  it  is  almost  inaccessible 
— all  produced  in  Tchaikovsky  a  feeling  of  great  depression, 
from  which  he  only  recovered  when  it  came  to  an  end  and 
he  found  himself  at  a  comfortable  supper  with  a  glass  of 
beer.  .  ,  ." 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  185 

Such  was  the  impression  produced  upon  Tchaikovsky  by 
the  Nibelungen,  He  himself  recorded  the  following  obser- 
vations upon  Wagner's  colossal  work  : — 

"  I  brought  away  the  impression  that  the  Trilogy  con- 
tains many  passages  of  extraordinary  beauty,  especially 
symphonic  beauty,  which  is  remarkable,  as  Wagner  has 
certainly  no  intention  of  writing  an  opera  in  the  style  of 
a  symphony.  I  feel  a  respectful  admiration  for  the  im- 
mense talents  of  the  composer  and  his  wealth  of  technique, 
such  as  has  never  been  heard  before.  And  yet  I  have  grave 
doubts  as  to  the  truth  of  Wagner's  principles  of  opera.  I 
will,  however,  continue  the  study  of  this  music — the  most 
complicated  which  has  hitherto  been  composed. 

"  Yet  if  the  '  Ring '  bores  one  in  places,  if  much  in  it  is 
at  first  incomprehensible  and  vague,  if  Wagner's  harmonies 
are  at  times  open  to  objection,  as  being  too  complicated 
and  artificial,  and  his  theories  are  false,  even  if  the  results 
of  his  immense  work  should  eventually  fall  into  oblivion, 
and  the  Bayreuth  Theatre  drop  into  an  eternal  slumber, 
yet  the  Nibelungen  Ring  is  an  event  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance to  the  world,  an  epoch-making  work  of  art." 

Morally  and  physically  exhausted,  pondering  uninter- 
ruptedly on  his  own  future,  and  imbued  with  the  firm 
conviction  that  "things  could  not  go  on  as  they  were," 
Tchaikovsky  returned  from  foreign  countries,  travelling 
through  Vienna  to  Verbovka. 

There  a  hearty  welcome  from  his  relations  awaited  him, 
and  all  the  idyllic  enjoyments  of  the  country.  The  happy 
family  life  of  the  Davidovs  was  the  best  thing  to  calm  and 
comfort  Tchaikovsky,  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  strengthened 
a  certain  intention  in  which  his  morbid  imagination  dis- 
cerned the  one  means  of  "salvation,"  but  which  actually 
became  the  starting-point  of  still  greater  troubles  and 
worries.  On  August  iQth  (sist)  he  wrote  to  me  from 
Verbovka : — 

"  I  have  now  to  pass  through  a  critical  moment  in  my 
life.  By-and-by  I  will  write  to  you  about  it  more  fully ; 


1 86  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

meanwhile  I  must  just  tell  you  that  I  have  decided  to  get 
married.     This  is  irrevocable.  .  .  ." 


XIII 
1876-1877 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  September  loth  (22nd},  1876. 

"...  Nearly  two  months  have  passed  since  we  parted 
from  each  other,  but  they  seem  to  me  centuries^/  During 
this  time  I  have  thought  much  about  you,  and  also  about 
myself  and  my  future.  My  reflections  have  resulted  in  the 
firm  determination  to  marry  some  one  or  other." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  September  i^th  (29^). 

"  Time  passes  uneventfully.  In  this  colourless  existence, 
however,  lies  a  certain  charm.  I  can  hardly  express  in 
words  how  sweet  is  this  feeling  of  quiet.  What  comfort — I 
might  almost  say  happiness — it  is  to  return  to  my  pleasant 
rooms  and  sit  down  with  a  book  in  my  hand !  At  this 
moment'I  hate,  probably  not  less  than  you  do,  that  beauti- 
ful, unknown  being  who  will  force  me  to  change  my  way 
of  living.  Do  not  be  afraid,  I  shall  not  hurry  in  this 
matter ;  you  may  be  sure  I  will  approach  it  with  great 
caution,  and  only  after  much  deliberation." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 

11  September  zvth  (October  2nd). 

"  Toly,  I  long  for  you  again.  I  am  worried  with  the 
thought  that  while  you  were  staying  in  Moscow  I  did  not 
treat  you  kindly  enough.  If  such  a  thought  should  come 
to  you  too,  know  (you  know  it  already)  that  my  lack  of 
tenderness  by  no  means  implies  a  lack  of  love  and  attach- 
ment. I  was  only  vexed  with  myself,  and  vexed  assuredly, 
because  I  deceived  you  when  I  said  I  had  arrived  at  an 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  187 

important  turning-point  in  my  existence.  That  is  not 
true ;  I  have  not  arrived  at  it,  but  I  think  of  it  and  wait 
for  something  to  spur  me  on  to  action.  In  the  meantime, 
however,  the  quiet  evening  hours  in  my  dear  little  home, 
the  rest  and  solitude — I  must  confess  to  this — have  great 
charms  for  me.  I  shudder  when  I  think  I  must  give  it  all 
up.  And  yet  it  will  come  to  pass.  .  .  ." 

To  Rimsky-Korsakov. 
"Moscow,  September  2^th  (October  nth\  1876. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — As  soon  as  I  had  read  your  letter 
I  went  to  Jurgenson  and  asked  him  about  the  quartet.  I 
must  tell  you  something  which  clearly  explains  Jurgenson's 
delay.  When  you  sent  the  parts  of  your  quartet  to 
Rubinstein  last  year,  it  was  played  through  by  our  Quartet 
Society,  Jurgenson  being  present.  Now  your  quartet  by 
no  means  pleased  these  gentlemen,  and  they  expressed 
some  surprise  that  Jurgenson  should  dream  of  publishing 
a.  work  which  appeared  destined  to  fall  into  oblivion.  This 
may  have  cooled  the  ardour  of  our  publisher.  In  the 
approaching  series  of  Chamber  Concerts  the  quartet  will 
probably  be  performed,  and  I  fancy  the  members  of  the 
Society  will  retract  their  opinion  when  they  get  to  know 
your  work  better.  I  am  convinced  of  this,  because  I  know 
how  your  quartet  improves  on  acquaintance.  The  first 
movement  is  simply  delicious,  and  ideal  as  to  form.  It 
might  serve  as  a  pattern  of  purity  of  style.  The  andante  is 
a  little  dry,  but  just  on  that  account  very  characteristic — 
as  reminiscent  of  the  days  of  powder  and  patches.  The 
scherzo  is  very  lively,  piquant,  and  must  sound  well.  As 
to  the  finale,  I  freely  confess  that  it  in  no  wise  pleases  me, 
although  I  acknowledge  that  it  may  do  so  when  I  hear  it, 
and  then  I  may  find  the  obtrusive  rhythm  of  the  chief  theme 
less  frightfully  unbearable.  I  consider  you  are  at  present 
in  a  transition  period  ;  in  a  state  of  fermentation  ;  and  no 
one  knows  what  you  are  capable  of  doing.  With  your 
talents  and  your  character  you  may  achieve  immense 
results.  As  I  have  said,  the  first  movement  is  a  pattern  of 
virginal  purity  of  style.  It  has  something  of  Mozart's 
beauty  and  unaffectedness. 


i88  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  You  ask  whether  I  have  really  written  a  third  quartet. 
Yes,  it  is  so.  I  produced  it  last  winter,  after  my  return 
from  abroad.  It  contains  an  "  Andante  funebre,"  which  has 
had  so  great  a  success  that  the  quartet  was  played  three 
times  in  public  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight." 

To  A.  Davidov. 

"  October  6th  (iZtti). 

"...  Do  not  worry  yourself  about  my  marriage,  my 
angel.  The  event  is  not  yet  imminent,  and  will  certainly 
not  come  off  before  next  year.  In  the  course  of  next 
month  I  shall  begin  to  look  around  and  prepare  myself 
a  little  for  matrimony,  which  for  various  reasons  I  consider 
necessary." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"October  14/^(26^). 

"  I  have  only  just  finished  the  composition  of  a  new 
work,  the  symphonic  fantasia,  Francesca  da  Rimini.  I 
have  worked  at  it  con  amore,  and  believe  my  love  has  been 
successful.  With  regard  to  the  Whirlwind,  perhaps  it 
might  correspond  better  to  Dore's  picture ;  it  has  not 
turned  out  quite  what  I  wanted.  However,  an  accurate 
estimate  of  the  work  is  impossible,  so  long  as  it  is  neither 
orchestrated  nor  played." 

To  E.  Napravnik. 

"  October  i8M  (30^). 

"I  have  just  read  in  a  Petersburg  paper  that  you  intend 
to  give  the  dances  from  my  opera  Vakoula  at  one  of  the 
forthcoming  symphony  concerts.  Would  it  be  possible  to 
perform  my  new  symphonic  poem,  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
instead?  I  am  actually  working  at  the  orchestration  of 
this  work,  and  could  have  the  score  ready  in  two  or  three 
weeks.  It  would  never  have  occurred  to  me  to  trouble 
you  with  my  new  work,  had  I  not  seen  that  my  name  was 
already  included  in  your  programmes.  As  you  have  been 
so  kind  as  to  grant  me  a  little  room  at  your  concerts,  I 
hope  you  will  agree  to  my  present  proposal.  I  must 
frankly  confess  that  I  am  somewhat  troubled  about  the 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  189 

fate  of  my  opera.  So  far,  I  have  not  even  heard  whether 
the  choral  rehearsals  have  begun.  Perhaps  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  send  me  word  about  the  performance  of 
Vakoular 

To  A.  Davidov. 

"  November  %th  (2°th). 

"  Probably  you  were  not  quite  well,  my  little  dove,1  when 
you  wrote  to  me,  for  a  note  of  real  melancholy  pervaded 
your  letter.  I  recognised  in  it  a  nature  closely  akin  to  my 
own.  I  know  the  feeling  only  too  well.  In  my  life,  too, 
there  are  days,  hours,  weeks,  aye,  and  months,  in  which 
everything  looks  black,  when  I  am  tormented  by  the 
thought  that  I  am  forsaken,  that  no  one  cares  for  me. 
Indeed,  my  life  is  of  little  worth  to  anyone.  Were  I  to 
vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth  to-day,  it  would  be  no 
great  loss  to  Russian  music,  and  would  certainly  cause  no 
one  great  unhappiness.  In  short,  I  live  a  selfish  bachelor's 
life.  I  work  for  myself  alone,  and  care  only  for  myself. 
This  is  certainly  very  comfortable,  although  dull,  narrow, 
and  lifeless.  But  that  you,  who  are  indispensable  to  so 
many  whose  happiness  you  make,  that  you  can  give  way 
to  depression,  is  more  than  I  can  believe.  How  can  you 
doubt  for  a  moment  the  love  and  esteem  of  those  who 
surround  you  ?  How  could  it  be  possible  not  to  love  you  ? 
No,  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  more  dearly  loved  than 
you  are.  As  for  me,  it  would  be  absurd  to  speak  of  my 
love  for  you.  If  I  care  for  anyone,  it  is  for  you,  for  your 
family,  for  my  brothers  and  our  old  Dad.  I  love  you  all, 
not  because  you  are  my  relations,  but  because  you  are  the 
best  people  in  the  world.  .  .  ." 

At  the  end  of  October  Tchaikovsky  came  to  Petersburg 
to  be  present  at  the  first  performance  of  his  Vakoula  the 
Smith.  This  time  the  composer  had  not  been  disen- 
chanted by  his  work ;  on  the  contrary,  every  rehearsal 
gave  him  more  and  more  pleasure,  and  the  hope  of  success 
increased.  The  appreciation  shown  him  by  the  singers 

1  There  is  no  real  English  equivalent  for  the  term  "  goloubouska" 


LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

engaged  in  the  work ;  the  enthusiastic  verdict  of  the  con- 
noisseurs who  had  become  acquainted  with  the  pianoforte 
arrangement,  and  of  those  who  were  able  to  attend  the 
rehearsals ;  finally,  the  lavish  expenditure  with  which  the 
Direction  was  mounting  the  piece — everything  encouraged 
Tchaikovsky  to  feel  assured  of  great  success. 

Since  the  first  production  of  The  Oprichnik  the  popu- 
larity of  Tchaikovsky's  name  had  considerably  increased. 
Not  only  musicians,  and  those  who  attended  the  symphony 
concerts,  but  also  the  public — in  the  widest  sense  of  the 
word — expected  something  quite  out  of  the  common. 
Long  before  November  24th  (December  6th),  the  day 
fixed  for  the  first  performance  of  Vakoula,  the  tickets  were 
already  sold  out. 

The  production  had  been  very  carefully  prepared ;  the 
principals  endeavoured  to  do  their  best.  The  overture 
was  well  received,  as  also  the  first  scene.  Then  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  audience  cooled,  and  the  succeeding 
numbers — with  the  exception  of  the  "  Gopak"1 — obtained 
but  scant  applause.  The  opera  failed  to  please  ;  people 
had  come  to  be  amused,  expecting  something  brilliant, 
humorous,  and  lively,  in  the  style  of  The  Barber  of  Seville, 
or  Domino  Noir,  consequently  they  were  disappointed. 
Nevertheless,  the  composer  was  recalled  several  times, 
although  not  without  some  opposition  on  the  part  of  a 
small,  but  energetic,  party. 

Tchaikovsky  himself,  in  a  letter  to  Taneiev,  writes  as 
follows : — 

"  Vakoula  was  a  brilliant  failure.  The  first  two  acts  left 
the  audience  cold.  During  the  scene  between  the  Golova 
and  the  Dyak  there  was  some  laughter,  but  no  applause. 
After  the  third  and  fourth  acts  I  had  several  calls,  but  also 
a  few  hisses  from  a  section  of  the  public.  The  second 
performance  was  somewhat  better,  but  one  cannot  say  that 
the  opera  pleased,  or  is  likely  to  live  through  six  per- 
formances. 

1  A  characteristic  Russian  dance. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  191 

"  It  is  worth  notice  that  at  the  dress  rehearsal  even  Cui 
prophesied  a  brilliant  success  for  the  work.  This  made  the 
blow  all  the  harder  and  more  bitter  to  bear.  I  must  freely 
confess  that  I  am  much  discouraged.  I  have  nothing  to 
complain  of  with  regard  to  the  mounting  of  the  work. 
Everything,  to  the  smallest  details,  had  been  well  studied 
and  prepared  ...  in  short,  I  alone  am  in  fault.  The 
opera  is  too  full  of  unnecessary  incidents  and  details,  too 
heavily  orchestrated,  and  not  sufficiently  vocal.  Now  I 
understand  your  cool  attitude  when  I  played  it  over  to 
you  at  Rubinstein's.  The  style  of  Vakoula  is  not  good 
opera  style — it  lacks  movement  and  breadth." 

The  opinions  of  the  Press  on  the  new  work  were  very 
similar.  No  one  "  praised  it  to  the  skies,"  but  no  one 
damned  it.  All  expressed  more  or  less  esteem  for  the 
composer,  but  none  were  quite  contented  with  his  work. 


To  S.  /.  Taneiev. 
"Moscow,  December  2nd  (14^),  1876. 

"...  I  have  just  heard  that  my  Romeo  was  hissed  in 
Vienna.  Do  not  say  anything  about  it,  or  Pasdeloup  may 
take  fright ;  I  hear  he  thinks  of  doing  it. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  dear  friend,  there  are  trying  times  in  life ! 

"  Francesco,  has  long  been  finished,  and  will  now  be 
copied  out." 

Hans  Richter,  who  conducted  the  Vienna  performance 
of  Romeo,  declared  that  the  comparative  failure  of  the  work 
did  not  amount  to  a  fiasco.  Certainly  at  the  concert 
itself  a  few  hisses  were  heard,  and  Hanslick  wrote  an 
abusive  criticism  of  it  in  the  Neue  Freie  Presse,  but  at  the 
same  time  much  interest,  even  enthusiasm,  was  shown  for 
the  new  Russian  work. 

Hardly  had  Tchaikovsky  swallowed  the  bitter  Viennese 
pill,  than  he  received  equally  disagreeable  news  from 
Taneiev  in  Paris. 


192  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

Taneiev  to  Tchaikovsky. 
"PARIS,  November  2%th  (December  io//fc),  1876. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Pasdeloup's  concert,  where  your 
Romeo  overture  was  shamefully  bungled.  The  tempi  were 
all  too  fast,  so  that  one  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  three 


notes  \JL ;       LJ  one  from   the  other.      The   second 


subject  was  played  by  the  wind  as  if  they  had  only  to 
support  the  harmony,  and  did  not  realise  they  had  the 
subject. 

"  The  following  was  especially  bad  : — 

K 


not  a  single  crescendo,  not  a  single  diminuendo.     At  the 
repetition  of  the  accessory  theme  in  D  major 


the  bassoons  played  their  fifth  in  the  bass  so  energetically 
that  they  drowned  the  other  parts.  There  were  no  abso- 
lutely false  notes,  but  the  piece  produced  a  poor  effect. 
Pasdeloup  obviously  understood  nothing  about  it,  and  does 
not  know  how  such  a  piece  should  be  played.  No  wonder 
the  Overture  did  not  please  the  public  and  was  but  coolly 
received.  It  was  as  painful  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  taking 
part  in  the  concert  myself.  Pasdeloup  alone,  however,  was 
to  blame,  not  the  public.  The  Overture  is  by  no  means 
incomprehensible  ;  it  only  needs  to  be  well  interpreted. 

"  I  played  your  concerto  to  Saint-Saens ;  everyone  was 
much  pleased  with  it.  All  musicians  here  are  greatly 
interested  in  your  compositions." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  193 

To  S.  Taneiev. 

"Moscow,  December  $th  (17^),  1876. 

"DEAR  SERGIUS, —  I  have  just  received  your  letter. 
Good  luck  and  bad  always  come  together ;  it  is  proverbial, 
and  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  of  the  non -success  of  my 
Francesca,  as  just  now  all  my  compositions  are  failures.  But 
your  letter  suggested  an  idea  to  me.  Last  year  Saint- 
Saens  advised  me  to  give  a  concert  of  my  own  compositions 
in  Paris.  He  said  such  a  concert  would  be  best  given  with 
Colonne's  orchestra  at  the  Chatelet,  and  would  not  cost 
very  much." 

5.  Taneiev  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  December  ibth  (28^),  1876. 

"Saint-Saens  advises  you  more  strongly  than  ever  to 
give  a  concert,  in  order  to  produce  your  Romeo  and 
Juliet.  .  .  .  'Ce/a  Va  pose,  cette  overture]  was  his  remark. 
You  must  give  your  concert  in  the  Salle  Herz,  with 
Colonne's  orchestra.  All  expenses,  including  two  re- 
hearsals, will  come  to  1,500  francs.  Two  rehearsals  will 
not  be  sufficient ;  we  should  need  at  least  three.  Even 
then,  2,000  francs  would  be  the  maximum  expenditure. 
The  orchestra  are  paid  five  francs  for  each  rehearsal,  and 
ten  for  the  concert.  The  most  favourable  time  would  be 
February  or  March." 

To  S.  Taneiev. 
"Moscow,  January  2^th  (February  10^),  1877. 

"DEAR  SERGIUS, — My  concert  will  not  come  off.  In 
spite  of  gigantic  efforts  on  my  part,  I  cannot  raise  the 
necessary  funds. 

"  I  am  in  despair. 

"  I  can  write  no  more  to-day.  Forgive  me  for  the  trouble 
I  have  given  you  over  my  unlucky  plans.  Thank  you  for 
your  letter." 

In  spite  of  the  bitterness  left  by  the  comparative  failure 
of  Vakoula,  and  the  many  other  blows  which  his  artistic 
ambitions  had  to  suffer,  Tchaikovsky,  after  his  return  to 


194  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Moscow,  did  not  lose  his  self-confidence,  nor  let  his  energy 
flag  for  a  moment.  On  the  contrary,  although  grieved  at 
the  fate  of  his  "  favourite  offspring,  Vakoula?  and  at  his 
unlucky  dtbut  as  a  composer  in  Vienna  and  Paris,  although 
suffering  from  a  form  of  dyspepsia,  he  was  not  only  in- 
terested in  the  propaganda  of  his  works  abroad,  but  com- 
posed his  Variations  on  a  Rococo  Theme  for  violoncello,  and 
corresponded  with  Stassov  about  an  operatic  libretto.  The 
choice  of  the  subject — Othello — emanated  from  Tchaikov- 
sky himself.  When  Stassov  tried  to  persuade  him  that 
this  subject  was  not  suitable  to  his  temperament,  he  re- 
fused to  listen  to  arguments,  and  would  only  consider  this 
particular  play.  About  the  middle  of  September  Stas- 
sov sent  him  the  rough  sketch  which  he  began  to  study 
zealously.  But  it  went  no  further.  On  January  3<Dth 
Stassov  wrote  to  him :  "  Do  as  you  will,  but  I  have  not 
finished  Othello  yet.  Hang  me  if  you  please — but  it  is 
not  my  fault."  Tchaikovsky  himself  had  also  begun  to 
feel  less  eager,  for  he  remarks  in  a  letter  to  Stassov  that  he 
is  not  to  trouble  about  a  new  subject. 

At  this  time  the  composer  was  in  such  good  health,  and 
so  active-minded,  that  he  gave  up  his  original  intention  of 
spending  Christmas  at  Kamenka,  and  stayed  on  in  Moscow. 

In  December  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  his  sister,  A.  Davi- 
dov: — 

"A  short  time  ago  Count  Leo  Tolstoi  was  here.  He 
called  upon  me,  and  I  am  proud  to  have  awakened  his 
interest.  On  my  part,  I  am  full  of  enthusiasm  for  his  ideal 
personality." 

For  a  long  time  past — since  the  first  appearance  of 
Tolstoi's  works — Tchaikovsky  had  been  one  of  his  most 
ardent  admirers,  and  this  admiration  had  gradually  become 
a  veritable  cult  for  the  name  of  Tolstoi.  It  was  characteristic 
of  the  composer  that  everything  he  cared  for,  but  did  not 
actually  know  face  to  face,  assumed  abnormal  proportions 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  195 

in  his  imagination.  The  author  of  Peace  and  War  seemed 
to  him,  in  his  own  words,  "not  so  much  an  ordinary 
mortal  as  a  demi-god."  At  that  time  the  personality  and 
private  life — even  the  portrait — of  Tolstoi  were  almost  un- 
known to  the  great  public,  and  this  was  a  further  reason 
why  Tchaikovsky  pictured  him  as  a  sage  and  a  magician. 
And  lo,  this  Olympian  being,  this  unfathomable  man, 
descended  from  his  cloud-capped  heights  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  Tchaikovsky. 

Ten  years  later  we  find  in  Tchaikovsky's  "diary"  the 
following  record  of  this  meeting  : — 

"  When  first  I  met  Tolstoi  I  was  possessed  by  terror  and 
felt  uneasy  in  his  presence.  It  seemed  that  this  great 
searcher  of  human  hearts  must  be  able  to  read  at  a  glance 
the  inmost  secrets  of  my  own.  I  was  convinced  that  not 
the  smallest  evil  or  weakness  could  escape  his  eye;  therefore 
it  would  avail  nothing  to  show  him  only  my  best  side.  If 
he  be  generous  (and  that  is  a  matter  of  course),  I  reflected, 
he  will  probe  the  diseased  area  as  kindly  and  delicately  as 
a  surgeon  who  knows  the  tender  spots  and  avoids  irritating 
them.  If  he  is  not  so  compassionate,  he  will  lay  his  finger 
on  the  wound  without  more  ado.  In  either  case  the 
prospect  alarmed  me.  In  reality  nothing  of  the  sort  took 
place.  The  great  analyst  of  human  nature  proved  in  his 
intercourse  with  his  fellow-men  to  be  a  simple,  sincere, 
whole-hearted  being,  who  made  no  display  of  that  omni- 
science I  so  dreaded.  Evidently  he  did  not  regard  me  as 
a  subject  for  dissection,  but  simply  wanted  to  chat  about 
music,  in  which  at  that  time  he  was  greatly  interested. 
Among  other  things,  he  seemed  to  enjoy  depreciating 
Beethoven,  and  even  directly  denying  his  genius.  This  is 
an  unworthy  trait  in  a  great  man.  The  desire  to  lower 
a  genius  to  the  level  of  one's  own  misunderstanding  of  him 
is  generally  a  characteristic  of  narrow-minded  people." 

Tolstoi  not  only  wished  to  talk  about  music  in  general, 
but  also  to  express  his  interest  in  Tchaikovsky's  own  com- 
positions. The  latter  was  so  much  flattered  that  he  asked 


196  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

Nicholas  Rubinstein  to  arrange  a  musical  evening  at  the 
Conservatoire  in  honour  of  the  great  writer.  On  this 
occasion  the  programme  included  the  Andante  from 
Tchaikovsky's  string  quartet  in  D  major,  during  the  per- 
formance of  which  Tolstoi  burst  into  tears. 

"  Never  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life,"  wrote  the  com- 
poser in  his  diary,  "  did  I  feel  so  flattered,  never  so  proud 
of  my  creative  power,  as  when  Leo  Tolstoi,  sitting  by  my 
side,  listened  to  my  Andante  while  the  tears  streamed 
down  his  face." 

Shortly  after  this  memorable  evening  Tolstoi  left 
Moscow,  and  wrote  the  following  letter  to  Tchaikovsky 
from  his  country  estate  Yasnaya  Polyana  : — 

"DEAR  PETER  ILICH,— I  am  sending  you  the  songs, 
having  looked  them  through  once  more.  In  your  hands 
they  will  become  wonderful  gems ;  but,  for  God's  sake, 
treat  them  in  the  Mozarto-Haydn  style,  and  not  after  the 
Beethoven-Schumann-Berlioz  school,  which  strives  only  for 
the  sensational.  How  much  more  I  had  to  tell  you !  But 
there  was  no  time,  because  I  was  simply  enjoying  myself. 
My  visit  to  Moscow  will  always  remain  a  most  pleasant 
memory.  I  have  never  received  a  more  precious  reward 
for  all  my  literary  labours  than  on  that  last  evening.  How 
charming  is  (Nicholas)  Rubinstein !  Thank  him  for  me 
once  more.  Aye,  and  all  the  other  priests  of  the  highest 
of  all  arts,  who  made  so  pure  and  profound  an  impression 
upon  me !  I  can  never  forget  all  that  was  done  for  my 
benefit  in  that  round  hall.  To  which  of  them  shall  I 
send  my  works?  That  is  to  say,  who  does  not  possess 
them? 

"  I  have  not  looked  at  your  things  yet.  As  soon  as 
I  have  done  so,  I  shall  write  you  my  opinion — whether 
you  want  it  or  not — because  I  admire  your  talent.  Good- 
bye, with  a  friendly  hand-shake. 

"  Yours, 

"  L.  TOLSTOI." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  197 

To  this  Tchaikovsky  replied  : — 

"Moscow,  December  24^,  1876  (January  $th,  1877). 

"  HONOURED  COUNT, — Accept  my  sincere  thanks  for 
the  songs.  I  must  tell  you  frankly  that  they  have  been 
taken  down  by  an  unskilful  hand  and,  in  consequence, 
nearly  all  their  original  beauty  is  lost  The  chief  mistake 
is  that  they  have  been  forced  artificially  into  a  regular 
rhythm.  Only  the  Russian  choral-dances  have  a  regularly 
accentuated  measure ;  the  legends  (Bylini)  have  nothing 
in  common  with  the  dances.  Besides,  most  of  these  songs 
have  been  written  down  in  the  lively  key  of  D  major,  and 
this  is  quite  out  of  keeping  with  the  tonality  of  the 
genuine  Russian  folksongs,  which  are  always  in  some  in- 
definite key,  such  as  can  only  be  compared  with  the  old 
Church  modes.  Therefore  the  songs  you  have  sent  are 
unsuitable  for  systematic  treatment.  I  could  not  use  them 
for  an  album  of  folksongs,  because  for  this  purpose  the 
tunes  must  be  taken  down  exactly  as  the  people  sing 
them.  This  is  a  difficult  task,  demanding  the  most  deli- 
cate musical  perception,  as  well  as  a  great  knowledge  of 
musical  history.  With  the  exception  of  Balakirev — and 
to  a  certain  extent  Prokounin — I  do  not  know  anyone 
who  really  understands  this  work.  But  your  songs  can  be 
used  as  symphonic  material — and  excellent  material  too — 
of  which  I  shall  certainly  avail  myself  at  some  future 
time.  I  am  glad  you  keep  a  pleasant  recollection  of  your 
evening  at  the  Conservatoire.  Our  quartet  played  as  they 
have  never  done  before.  From  which  you  must  infer  that 
one  pair  of  ears,  if  they  belong  to  such  a  great  artist  as 
yourself,  has  more  incentive  power  with  musicians  than 
a  hundred  ordinary  pairs.  You  are  one  of  those  authors 
of  whom  it  may  be  said  that  their  personality  is  as  much 
beloved  as  their  works.  It  was  evident  that,  well  as  they 
generally  play,  our  artists  exerted  themselves  to  the 
utmost  for  one  they  honoured  so  greatly.  What  I  feel 
I  must  express :  I  cannot  tell  you  how  proud  and  happy 
it  made  me  that  my  music  could  so  touch  you  and  carry 
you  away. 

"Except  Fitzenhagen,  who  cannot  read  Russian,  your 
books  are  known  to  all  the  other  members  of  the  quartet. 


198  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

But  I  am  sure  they  would  be  grateful  if  you  gave  them 
each  one  volume  of  your  works.  For  myself,  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  to  give  me  The  Cossacks ;  if  not  immediately, 
then  later  on,  when  next  you  come  to  Moscow — an  event 
to  which  I  look  forward  with  impatience.  If  you  send 
your  portrait  to  Rubinstein,  do  not  forget  me." 

With  this  letter  personal  intercourse  between  Tchai- 
kovsky and  Count  Tolstoi  came  to  an  end.  It  is  remark- 
able that  this  was  not  against  the  composer's  wishes,  even 
if  he  did  nothing  actually  to  cause  the  rupture.  The 
attentive  reader  will  not  fail  to  have  gathered  from  the 
last  words  quoted  from  his  diary  that  his  acquaintance 
with  Tolstoi  had  been  something  of  a  disappointment. 
It  vexed  him  that  "the  lord  of  his  intellect"  should  care 
to  talk  of  "commonplace  subjects  unworthy  of  a  great 
man."  It  hurt  him  to  see  all  the  little  faults  and  failings 
of  this  divinity  brought  out  by  closer  proximity.  He 
feared  to  lose  faith  in  him,  and  consequently  to  spoil  his 
enjoyment  of  his  works.  This  delight  was  at  one  time 
somewhat  disturbed  by  his  hyper-sensitiveness.  In  a 
letter  to  his  brother,  Tchaikovsky  criticises  Anna  Karenina, 
which  had  then  just  begun  to  make  its  appearance  in  the 
Russky  Vestnik. 

"  After  your  departure,"  he  writes,  "  I  read  Anna  Ka- 
renina  once  more.  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  extol  this 
revolting  and  commonplace  stuff,  which  aspires  to  be 
psychologically  profound?  The  devil  take  your  psycho- 
logical truth  when  it  leaves  nothing  but  an  endless  waste 
behind  it." 

Afterwards,  having  read  the  whole  novel,  Tchaikovsky 
repented  his  judgment,  and  acknowledged  it  to  be  one  of 
Tolstoi's  finest  creations. 

In  the  presence  of  Tolstoi,  Tchaikovsky  felt  ill  at  ease, 
in  spite  of  the  writer's  kind  and  simple  attitude  towards 
his  fellow-men.  From  a  fear  of  wounding  or  displeasing 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  199 

him  in  any  way,  and  also  in  consequence  of  his  efforts  not 
to  betray  his  admiration  and  delight,  the  musician  never 
quite  knew  how  to  behave  to  Tolstoi,  and  was  always 
conscious  of  being  somewhat  unnatural — of  playing  a 
part.  This  consciousness  was  intolerable  to  Tchaikovsky, 
consequently  he  avoided  future  intercourse  with  the  great 
man. 

Greatly  as  Tchaikovsky  admired  Tolstoi  the  writer,  he 
was  never  in  sympathy  with  Tolstoi  the  philosopher.  In 
his  diary  for  1886,  writing  of  What  I  Believe,  he  says  : — 

"  When  we  read  the  autobiographies  or  memoirs  of  great 
men,  we  frequently  find  that  their  thoughts  and  impres- 
sions— and  more  especially  their  artistic  sentiments — are 
such  as  we  ourselves  have  experienced  and  can  therefore 
fully  understand.  There  is  only  one  who  is  incompre- 
hensible, who  stands  alone  and  aloof  in  his  greatness — Leo 
Tolstoi.  Yet  often  I  feel  angry  with  him :  I  almost  hate  him. 
Why,  I  ask  myself,  should  this  man,  who  more  than  all 
his  predecessors  has  power  to  depict  the  human  soul  with 
such  wonderful  harmony,  who  can  fathom  our  poor  intellect 
and  follow  the  most  secret  and  tortuous  windings  of  our 
moral  nature — why  must  he  needs  appear  as  a  preacher, 
and  set  up  to  be  our  teacher  and  guardian?  Hitherto  he 
has  succeeded  in  making  a  profound  impression  by  the 
recital  of  simple,  everyday  events.  We  might  read  between 
the  lines  his  noble  love  of  mankind,  his  compassion  for  our 
helplessness,  our  mortality  and  pettiness.  How  often  have 
I  wept  over  his  words  without  knowing  why !  .  .  .  Per- 
haps because  for  a  moment  I  was  brought  into  contact 
— through  his  medium — with  the  Ideal,  with  absolute 
happiness,  and  with  humanity.  Now  he  appears  as  a 
commentator  of  texts,  who  claims  a  monopoly  in  the 
solution  of  all  questions  of  faith  and  ethics.  But  through 
all  his  recent  writings  blows  a  chilling  wind.  We  feel  a 
tremor  of  fear  at  the  consciousness  that  he,  too,  is  a  mere 
man  ;  a  creature  as  much  puffed  up  as  ourselves  about 
'  The  End  and  Aim  of  Life/  '  The  Destiny  of  Man/  '  God/ 
and  '  Religion  ' ;  and  as  madly  presumptuous,  as  ineffectual 
as  some  ephemera  born  on  a  summer's  day  to  perish  at 


200  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

eventide.  Once  Tolstoi  was  a  Demigod.  Now  he  is  only 
a  Priest.  .  .  .  Tolstoi  says  that  formerly,  knowing  nothing, 
he  was  mad  enough  to  aspire  to  teach  men  out  of  his 
ignorance.  He  regrets  this.  Yet  here  he  is  beginning  to 
teach  us  again.  Then  we  must  conclude  he  is  no  longer 
ignorant.  Whence  this  self-confidence  ?  Is  it  not  foolish 
presumption?  The  true  sage  knows  only  that  he  knows 
nothing." 

It  is  said  that  in  nature  peace  often  precedes  a  violent 
storm.  This  is  twice  observable  in  the  life  of  Tchaikovsky. 
Let  us  look  back  to  the  period  of  his  Government  service, 
to  the  strenuous  industry  and  zeal  he  displayed  in  his 
official  duties  in  1862 — just  before  he  took  up  the  musical 
profession.  Never  was  he  more  contented  with  his  lot,  or 
calmer  in  mind,  than  a  few  months  before  he  entered  the 
Conservatoire.  It  was  the  same  at  the  present  juncture. 
Shortly  before  that  rash  act,  which  cut  him  off  for  ever 
from  Moscow,  which  changed  all  his  habits  and  social 
relations,  and  was  destined  to  be  the  beginning  of  a  new 
life ;  just  at  the  moment,  in  fact,  when  we  might  look  for 
some  dissatisfaction  with  fate  as  a  reason  for  this  desperate 
resolve,  Tchaikovsky  was  by  no  means  out  of  spirits.  On 
the  contrary,  in  January  and  February  1877,  he  gave  the 
impression  of  a  man  whose  mind  was  at  rest,  who  had 
no  desires,  and  displayed  more  purpose  and  cheerfulness 
than  before.  This  mood  is  very  evident  in  a  playful  letter 
dated  January  2nd  (i4th),  1877  : — 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"HONOURED  MR.  MODESTE  ILICH, — I  do  not  know  if  you 
still  remember  me.  I  am  your  brother  and  a  professor  at 
the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  I  have  also  composed  a  few 
things :  operas,  symphonies,  overtures,  etc.  Once  upon  a 
time  you  honoured  me  by  your  personal  acquaintance. 
Last  year  we  were  abroad  together  and  spent  a  time  which 
I  shall  never  forget.  You  used  frequently  to  write  me 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  201 

long  and  interesting  letters.     Now  all  this  seems  like  a 
beautiful  dream.  .  .  . 

"Just  before  the  holidays,  my  dear  brotherkin,  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Count  Tolstoi.  This  pleased  me  very 
much.  I  have  also  received  a  kind  and  precious  letter 
from  his  Grace.  When  he  heard  the  '  Andante '  from  my 
first  quartet  he  shed  tears  of  emotion.  I  am  very  proud 
of  this,  my  dear  brotherkin,  and  you  really  should  not 
forget  me,  my  dear  brotherkin,  because  I  have  now  become 
a  great  swell.  Farewell,  my  brotherkin. 

"  Your  brother, 

"  PETER." 

On  February  2Oth  (March  4th)  the  first  performance  of 
Tchaikovsky's  ballet,  The  Swan  Lake,  took  place.  The 
composer  was  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  very  moderate 
success  of  this  work.  The  scenery  and  costumes  were 
poor,  while  the  orchestra  was  conducted  by  a  semi- 
amateur,  who  had  never  before  been  confronted  with  so 
complicated  a  score. 

To  his  sister,  A.  Davidov. 

"February  22nd  (March  6th). 

"  I  have  lately  found  courage  to  appear  as  a  conductor. 
I  was  very  unskilful  and  nervous,  but  still  I  managed 
to  conduct,  with  considerable  success,  my  *  Russo-Serbian 
March'  in  the  Opera  House.  Henceforward  I  shall  take 
every  opportunity  of  conducting,  for  if  my  plan  of  a 
concert  tour  abroad  comes  off,  I  shall  have  to  be  my  own 
conductor." 

On  February  25th  (March  Qth)  the  symphonic  fantasia 
Francesca  da  Rimini  was  performed  for  the  first  time  at 
the  tenth  symphony  concert  in  Moscow.  It  had  a  splendid 
reception,  and  was  twice  repeated  during  the  month  of 
March.  In  his  notice  of  the  concert  Kashkin  praises  not 
only  the  music  itself,  but  its  inspired  interpretation  by 
Nicholas  Rubinstein. 


202  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

In  the  course  of  this  season  Tchaikovsky  began  his 
Fourth  Symphony.  Probably  the  real  reason  why  he  lost 
his  interest  in  the  libretto  of  Othello  is  to  be  found  in  his 
entire  devotion  to  this  work. 

In  March  and  April  he  began  to  suffer  again  from 
mental  depression.  This  is  evident  from  many  of  his 
letters  written  at  this  time. 

To  I.  A.  Klimenko. 

"  May  %th  (20^). 

"  I  am  very  much  changed — especially  mentally — sinfe 
we  last  met.  There  is  no  trace  of  gaiety  and  love  of  fun 
left  in  me.  Life  is  terribly  empty,  wearisome  and  trivial. 
I  am  seriously  considering  matrimony  as  a  lasting  tie. 
The  onejthing  that  remains  unaltered  is  my  love  of  com- 
posing^/ If  things  were  only  different,  if  I  were  not  con- 
demned to  run  against  obstacles  at  every  step — my  work 
at  the  Conservatoire,  for  instance,  which  restricts  me  more 
each  year — I  might  accomplish  something  of  value.  But 
alas,  I  am  chained  to  the  Conservatoire ! " 

In  the  early  spring  of  1877  Modeste  Tchaikovsky  sent 
his  brother  a  libretto  based  upon  Nodier's  novel,  Ines  de 
Las-Sierras.  The  musician  was  not  attracted  by  it ;  he 
had  already  another  plan  in  view.  In  May  he  wrote  to 
his  brother : — 

"  Recently  I  was  at  Madame  Lavrovsky's.1  The  con- 
versation fell  upon  opera  libretti.  X.  talked  a  lot  of 
rubbish,  and  made  the  most  appalling  suggestions. 
Madame  Lavrovsky  said  nothing  and  only  laughed. 
Suddenly,  however,  she  remarked :  '  What  about  Eugene 
Oniegin  ? '  The  idea  struck  me  as  curious,  and  I  made  no 
reply.  Afterwards,  while  dining  alone  at  a  restaurant,  her 
words  came  back  to  me,  and,  on  consideration,  the  idea  did 
not  seem  at  all  ridiculous.  1  soon  made  up  my  mind,  and 
set  off  at  once  in  search  of  Poushkin's  works.  I  had  some 
trouble  in  finding  them.  I  was  enchanted  when  I  read  the 

1  E.  A.  Lavrovsky,  a  famous  singer  and  a  teacher  at  the  Conservatoire. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  203 

work.  I  spent  a  sleepless  night  ;  the  result  —  a  sketch  of  a 
delicious  opera  based  upon  Poushkin's  text.  The  next  day 
I  went  to  Shilovsky,  who  is  now  working  post-haste  at  my 
sketch. 

"  You  have  no  notion  how  crazy  I  am  upon  this  subject. 
How  delightful  to  avoid  the  commonplace  Pharaohs, 
Ethiopian  princesses,  poisoned  cups,  and  all  the  rest  of 
these  dolls'  tales  !  Eugene  Oniegin  is  full  of  poetry.  I 
am  not  blind  to  its  defects.  I  know  well  enough  the  work 
gives  little  scope  for  treatment,  and  will  be  deficient  in 
stage  effects  ;  but  the  wealth  of  poetry,  the  human  quality 
and  simplicity  of  the  subject,  joined  to  Poushkin's  inspired 
verses,  will  compensate  for  what  it  lacks  in  other  respects." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"May  2>]th  (June  8M). 

"...  The  plan  of  my  symphony  is  complete.  I  shall 
begin  upon  the  orchestration  at  the  end  of  the  summer." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 


"  At  first  I  was  annoyed  by  your  criticism  of^Oniegin, 
but  it  did  not  last  long/O^et  it  lack  scenic  effect,  let  it 
be  wanting  in  action  !  fi  am  in  love  with  the  image  of 
Tatiana,  I  am  under  me  spell  of  Poushkin's  verse,  and 
I  am  drawn  to  compose  the  music  as  it  were  by  some 
irresistible  attraction.  I  am  lost  in  the  composition  of  the 
opera." 


PART    IV 

I 
1877-1878 

SOME  time  during  the  seventies,  a  violinist  named 
Joseph  Kotek  entered  Tchaikovsky's  theory  class 
at  the  Conservatoire. 
He  was  a  pleasant-looking  young  man,  good- 
hearted,  enthusiastic,  and  a  gifted  virtuoso.     His  sympa- 
thetic personality  and  talented  work  attracted  Tchaikov- 
sky's notice,  and  Kotek  became  a  special  favourite  with 
him.     Thus  a  friendship  developed  between  master  and 
pupil  which  was  not  merely  confined  to  the  class-room  of 
the  Conservatoire. 

Kotek  was  poor,  and,  on  leaving  the  Conservatoire,  was 
obliged  to  earn  his  living  by  teaching,  before  he  began  to 
tour  abroad. 

At  that  time  there  lived  in  Moscow  the  widow  of  a 
well-known  railway  engineer,  Nadejda  Filaretovna  von 
Meek.  This  lady  asked  Nicholas  Rubinstein  to  recom- 
mend her  a  young  violinist  who  could  play  with  her  at  her 
house. 

Rubinstein  recommended  Kotek.  No  young  musician 
could  have  desired  a  better  post.  Nadejda  von  Meek, 
with  her  somewhat  numerous  family,  lived  part  of  the 
year  in  Moscow  and  the  rest  abroad,  or  upon  her  beautiful 
estate  in  the  south-west  of  Russia.  Kotek,  therefore, 
besides  a  good  salary,  enjoyed  a  chance  of  seeing  some- 

204 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  205 

thing  of  the  world,  and  had  also  leisure  to  perfect  himself 
on  his  instrument. 

Kotek  soon  discovered  that  Nadejda  von  Meek  shared  his 
own  admiration  for  Tchaikovsky's  genius.  An  amateur  of 
music  in  general,  she  was  particularly  interested  in  Tchai- 
kovsky's works,  a  predilection  which  was  destined  to  have 
considerable  influence  upon  the  composer's  future  career. 
Nadejda  von  Meek  was  not  only  interested  in  the  com- 
poser, but  also  in  the  man.  She  endeavoured  to  learn 
something  of  his  private  life  and  character,  and  cross- 
questioned  everyone  who  had  come  in  contact  with  him. 
Consequently  her  acquaintance  with  Kotek  was  doubly 
agreeable,  because  he  could  tell  her  a  great  deal  about 
the  composer  who  had  given  her  such  keen  artistic  enjoy- 
ment. 

From  Kotek  she  learnt  to  know  Tchaikovsky  in  his 
daily  life,  and  her  affection  for  him  continually  in- 
creased. Naturally  she  found  out  about  his  pecuniary 
needs  and  his  longing  for  freedom,  and  in  this  way  she 
formed  a  wish  to  take  some  active  part  in  his  private 
life,  and  to  make  it  her  first  duty  to  allay  his  material 
anxieties. 

Through  Kotek  she  commissioned  the  composer,  at  a 
high  fee,  to  arrange  several  of  his  own  works  for  violin 
and  piano.  Gradually,  through  the  medium  of  the  young 
violinist,  constant  intercourse  was  established  between  the 
patroness  and  the  composer.  On  his  side  Tchaikovsky, 
who  liked  whatever  was  original  and  unconventional,  took 
the  liveliest  interest  in  all  Kotek  detailed  to  him  about 
"  the  eccentricities  "  of  Nadejda  von  Meek.  Flattered  and 
touched  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  a  household  name 
in  the  family  of  this  generous  admirer,  Tchaikovsky  sent 
her  messages  of  grateful  thanks  by  Kotek.  Nadejda  von 
Meek,  elated  that  her  favourite  composer  did  not  disdain 
to  execute  her  commissions,  returned  similar  expressions 
of  gratitude  and  sympathy. 


206  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

This  was  the  commencement  of  the  unusual  relations 
between  Tchaikovsky  and  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

This  friendship  was  of  great  importance  in  Tchaikov- 
sky's life,  for  it  completely  changed  its  material  conditions 
and  consequently  influenced  his  creative  activity ;  more- 
over, it  was  so  poetical,  so  out  of  the  common,  so  different 
from  anything  that  takes  place  in  everyday  society,  that,  in 
order  to  understand  it,  we  must  make  closer  acquaintance 
with  the  character  of  this  new  friend  and  benefactress. 

Nadejda  Filaretovna  von  Meek  was  born  January  2pth 
(February  roth),  1831,  in  the  village  of  Znamensk  (in  the 
Government  of  Smolensk).1  Although  her  parents  were 
not  rich,  yet  she  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  an  excellent 
home  education.  Her  father  was  an  enthusiastic  music- 
lover,  and  his  taste  descended  to  his  daughter.  She  would 
listen  to  him  playing  the  violin  for  hours  together ;  but 
as  he  grew  older  the  parts  were  reversed,  and  Nadejda  and 
her  sister  would  play  pianoforte  duets  to  their  father.  In 
this  way  she  acquired  an  extensive  knowledge  of  musical 
literature. 

No  information  is  forthcoming  as  regards  her  general 
education.  But  from  her  voluminous  correspondence  with 
Tchaikovsky,  his  brother  Modeste  derives  the  impression 
that  she  was  a  proud  and  energetic  woman,  of  strong  con- 
victions, with  the  mental  balance  and  business  capacity  of 
a  man,  and  well  able  to  struggle  with  adversity ;  a  woman, 
moreover,  who  despised  all  that  was  petty,  commonplace, 
and  conventional,  but  irreproachable  in  all  her  aspirations 
and  in  her  sense  of  duty ;  absolutely  free  from  sentiment- 
ality in  her  relations  with  others,  yet  capable  of  deep  feeling, 
and  of  being  completely  carried  away  by  what  was  lofty 
and  beautiful. 

In  1848  Nadejda  Filaretovna  married  K.  von  Meek,  an 
engineer  employed  upon  the  Moscow-Warsaw  line,  and 
with  her  marriage  began  a  hard  time  in  her  life.  As  a 

1  Her  parents'  name  was  Frolovsky. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  207 

devoted  wife  and  mother,  Frau  von  Meek  had  a  great  deal 
to  endure,  from  which,  however,  she  emerged  triumphant 
in  the  end. 

"  I  have  not  always  been  rich,"  she  says  in  one  of 
her  letters  to  Tchaikovsky ;  "  the  greater  part  of  my  life 
I  was  poor,  very  poor  indeed.  My  husband  was  an 
engineer  in  the  Government  service,  with  a  salary  of 
1500  roubles  a  year  (^"150),  which  was  all  we  had  to  live 
upon,  with  five  children  and  my  husband's  family  on  our 
hands.  Not  a  brilliant  prospect,  as  you  see !  I  was  nurse, 
governess,  and  sewing-maid  to  my  children,  and  valet  to 
my  husband  ;  the  housekeeping  was  entirely  in  my  hands; 
naturally  there  was  plenty  of  work,  but  I  did  not  mind 
that.  It  was  another  matter  which  made  life  unbearable. 
Do  you  know,  Peter  Ilich,  what  it  is  to  be  in  the  Govern- 
ment service  ?  Do  you  know  how,  in  that  case,  a  man 
must  forget  he  is  a  reasoning  being,  possessed  of  will- 
power and  honourable  instincts,  and  must  become  a 
puppet,  an  automaton  ?  It  was  my  husband's  position 
which  I  found  so  intolerable  that  finally  I  implored  him  to 
send  in  his  resignation.  To  his  remark  that  if  he  did  so 
we  should  starve,  I  replied  that  we  could  work,  and  that 
we  should  not  die  of  hunger.  When  at  last  he  yielded  to 
my  desire,  we  were  reduced  to  living  upon  twenty  kopecks 
a  day  (5</.)  for  everything.  It  was  hard,  but  I  never 
regretted  for  a  moment  what  had  been  done.'' 

Thanks  to  this  energetic  step,  taken  at  the  entreaty  of 
his  wife,  Von  Meek  became  engaged  in  private  railway 
enterprises,  and  gradually  amassed  a  fortune  and  put  by 
some  millions  of  roubles. 

In  1876  Nadejda  was  left  a  widow.  Of  eleven  children, 
only  seven  lived  with  her.  The  others  were  grown  up,  and 
had  gone  out  into  the  world.  She  managed  her  com- 
plicated affairs  herself,  with  the  assistance  of  her  brother 
and  her  eldest  son.  But  her  chief  occupation  was  the 
education  of  her  younger  children. 

After  her  husband's  death,  Nadejda  von  Meek  gave  up 


208  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

going  into  society ;  she  paid  no  more  visits,  and  remained, 
in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word,  "invisible"  to  all  but  the 
members  of  her  domestic  circle.1 

Nadejda  von  Meek  was  a  great  lover  of  nature,  and 
travelled  constantly.  She  also  read  much,  and  was  pas- 
sionately fond  of  music,  especially  of  Tchaikovsky's  works. 

The  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  close  and  touching 
friendship  between  Nadejda  von  Meek  and  Tchaikovsky 
was  the  fact  that  they  never  saw  each  other  except  in  a 
crowd — an  accidental  glimpse  at  a  concert  or  theatre. 
When  they  accidentally  came  face  to  face  they  passed  as 
total  strangers.  To  the  end  of  their  days  they  never 
exchanged  a  word,  scarcely  even  a  casual  greeting.  Their 
whole  intercourse  was  confined  to  a  brisk  correspondence. 
Their  letters,  which  have  been  preserved  intact,  and  serve 
as  the  chief  material  for  this  part  of  my  book,  are  so  inter- 
esting, and  throw  such  a  clear  light  on  the  unique  rela- 
tions between  this  man  and  woman,  that  the  publication 
of  the  entire  correspondence  on  both  sides  would  be  of 
profound  interest. 

But  the  time  has  not  yet  come  for  such  an  undertaking. 
I  may  only  use  this  valuable  material  (says  Modeste 
Tchaikovsky)  in  so  far  as  it  forwards  the  chief  aim  of  this 
book — to  tell  the  story  of  Tchaikovsky's  life.  I  may 
only  write  of  Nadejda  von  Meek  as  my  brother's  "best 
friend "  and  benefactress,  without  intruding  upon  her  in- 
timate life  which  she  has  described  in  her  frank,  veracious, 
and  lengthy  letters. 

Shortly  after  she  had  sent  Tchaikovsky  a  commission, 
through  Kotek,  for  a  violin  and  pianoforte  arrangement, 
he  received  his  first  letter  from  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

1  She  carried  her  seclusion  to  such  lengths  that  Tchaikovsky's  sister  and 
brother-in-law,  Alexandra  and  Leo  Davidov,  never  saw  Nadejda  von  Meek, 
although  their  daughter  married  one  of  her  sons.  Their  friendly  intercourse 
was  carried  on  entirely  by  correspondence.  Nicholas  Rubinstein  was  almost 
the  only  visitor  from  the  outside  world  whom  she  cared  to  receive. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  209 

N.  F.  von  Meek  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"December  \%th  (30^),  1876. 

"  HONOURED  SIR, — Allow  me  to  express  my  sincere 
thanks  for  the  prompt  execution  of  my  commission.  I 
deem  it  superfluous  to  tell  you  of  the  enthusiasm  I  feel  for 
your  music,  because  you  are  doubtless  accustomed  to 
receive  homage  of  a  very  different  kind  to  any  which 
could  be  offered  you  by  so  insignificant  a  person,  music- 
ally speaking,  as  myself.  It  might,  therefore,  seem  ridicu- 
lous to  you  ;  and  my  admiration  is  something  so  precious 
that  I  do  not  care  to  have  it  laughed  at.  Therefore  I  will 
only  say  one  thing,  which  I  beg  you  to  accept  as  the  literal 
truth — that  your  music  makes  life  easier  and  pleasanter  to 
live." 

From  Tchaikovsky  to  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  December  i  ^th  (3 1  st\  1876. 

"  HONOURED  MADAM, — I  thank  you  most  cordially  for 
the  kind  and  flattering  things  you  have  written  to  me.  On 
my  part,  I  can  assure  you  that,  amid  all  his  failures  and 
difficulties,  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  a  musician  to  know  that 
there  exists  a  handful  of  people — of  whom  you  are  one — 
who  are  genuine  and  passionate  lovers  of  music." 

Two  months  later  he  received  another  commission,  and 
a  longer  letter,  which  paved  the  way  to  intimate  friendship 
and  lasting  influence. 

N.  F.  von  Meek  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  February  \$th  (27^),  1877. 

"  DEAR  SIR—PETER  ILICH,— I  do  not  know  how  to  ex- 
press my  thanks  for  your  kind  indulgence  for  my  impatience. 
Were  it  not  for  the  real  sympathy  I  feel  for  you,  I  should 
be  afraid  you  might  want  to  get  rid  of  me ;  but  I  value 
your  kindness  too  greatly  for  this  to  happen. 

"  I  should  like  to  tell  you  a  great  deal  about  my  fantastic 
feelings  towards  you,  but  I  am  afraid  of  taking  up  your 
leisure,  of  which  you  have  so  little  to  spare.  I  will  only  say 


210  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

that  this  feeling — abstract  as  it  may  be — is  one  of  the 
best  and  loftiest  emotions  ever  yet  experienced  by  any 
human  being.  Therefore  you  may  call  me  eccentric,  or 
mad,  if  you  please ;  but  you  must  not  laugh  at  me.  All 
this  would  be  ridiculous,  if  it  were  not  so  sincere  and 

"  Your  devoted  and  admiring 

"  N.  F.  VON  MECK." 

From  Tchaikovsky  to  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"February  i6th  (28^),  1877. 

"DEAR  MADAM — NADEJDA  FILARETOVNA, — Accept  my 
hearty  thanks  for  the  too  lavish  fee  with  which  you  have 
repaid  such  a  light  task  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  tell  me 
all  that  was  in  your  heart.  I  can  assure  you  it  would  have 
been  very  pleasant  and  interesting,  for  I,  too,  warmly 
reciprocate  your  sympathy.  This  is  no  empty  phrase. 
Perhaps  I  know  you  better  than  you  imagine. 

"  If  some  day  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  write  me  all 
you  want  to  say,  I  shall  be  most  grateful.  In  any  case  I 
thank  you  from  my  heart  for  your  expressions  of  apprecia- 
tion, which  I  value  very  highly." 

N.  F.  Meek  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Moscow,  March  ^th  (igth),  1877. 

"  DEAR  SIR— PETER  ILICH,— Your  kind  answer  to  my 
letter  proved  a  greater  joy  than  I  have  experienced  for  a  long 
while,  but — you  know  human  nature :  the  more  we  have  of 
a  good  thing,  the  more  we  want.  Although  I  promised 
not  to  be  a  nuisance,  I  already  doubt  my  own  powers 
of  refraining,  because  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  favour 
which  may  seem  to  you  very  strange ;  but  anyone  who 
lives  the  life  of  an  anchorite — as  I  do — must  naturally  end 
by  regarding  all  that  relates  to  society  and  the  convention- 
alities of  life  as  empty  and  meaningless  terms.  I  do  not 
know  how  you  look  upon  these  matters,  but — judging  from 
our  short  acquaintance — I  do  not  think  you  will  be  dis- 
posed to  criticise  me  severely ;  if  I  am  wrong,  however,  I 
want  you  to  say  so  frankly,  without  circumlocution,  and  to 
refuse  my  request,  which  is  this :  give  me  one  of  your 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  211 

photographs.  I  have  already  two,  but  I  should  like  one 
from  you  personally ;  I  want  to  read  in  your  face  the 
inspiration,  the  emotions,  under  the  influence  of  which  you 
write  the  music  which  carries  us  away  to  that  world  of 
ideal  feelings,  aspirations  and  desires  which  cannot  be 
satisfied  in  life.  How  much  joy,  but  how  much  pain  is 
there  in  this  music !  Nor  would  we  consent  to  give  up 
this  suffering,  for  in  it  we  find  our  highest  capacities ;  our 
happiness,  our  hopes,  which  life  denies  us.  The  Tempest 
was  the  first  work  of  yours  I  ever  heard.  I  cannot  tell 
you  the  impression  it  made  upon  me !  For  several  days  I 
was  half  out  of  my  mind.  I  must  tell  you  that  I  cannot 
separate  the  man  from  the  musician,  and,  as  the  high 
priest  of  so  lofty  an  art,  I  expect  to  find  in  him,  more  than 
in  ordinary  men,  the  qualities  I  most  reverence.  There- 
fore after  my  first  impression  of  The  Tempest  I  was 
seized  with  the  desire  to  know  something  of  the  man  who 
created  it.  I  began  to  make  inquiries  about  you,  took 
every  opportunity  of  hearing  what  was  said  of  you,  stored 
up  every  remark,  every  fragment  of  criticism,  and  I  must 
confess  that  just  those  things  for  which  others  blamed  you 
were  charms  in  my  eyes — everyone  to  his  taste !  Only  a 
few  days  ago — in  casual  conversation — I  heard  one  of 
your  opinions,  which  delighted  me,  and  was  so  entirely  in 
accordance  with  my  own  that  I  felt  suddenly  drawn  to 
you  by  more  intimate  and  friendly  ties.  It  is  not  inter- 
course that  draws  people  together,  so  much  as  affinities 
of  opinion,  sentiment,  and  sympathy,  so  that  one  person 
may  be  closely  united  to  another,  although  in  some  respects 
they  remain  strangers. 

"  I  am  so  much  interested  to  know  all  about  you  that 
I  could  say  at  almost  any  hour  where  you  are,  and — up  to 
a  certain  point — what  you  are  doing.  All  I  have  observed 
myself,  all  I  have  heard  of  you  from  others — the  good  and 
the  bad — delights  me  so  much  that  I  offer  you  my  sin- 
cerest  sympathy  and  interest.  I  am  glad  that  in  you  the 
musician  and  the  man  are  so  completely  and  harmoniously 
blended. 

"  There  was  a  time  when  I  earnestly  desired  your  per- 
sonal acquaintance ;  but  now  I  feel  the  more  you  fascinate 
me,  the  more  I  shrink  from  knowing  you.  It  seems  to  me 


212  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  could  not  then  talk  to  you  as  I  do  now,  although  if  we 
met  unexpectedly  I  could  not  behave  to  you  as  to  a 
stranger. 

"  At  present  I  prefer  to  think  of  you  from  a  distance,  to 
hear  you  speak  and  to  be  at  one  with  you  in  your  music. 
I  am  really  unhappy  never  to  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  Francesca  da  Rimini ;  I  am  impatient  for  the 
appearance  of  the  pianoforte  arrangement. 

"  Forgive  me  all  my  effusions ;  they  cannot  be  of  any 
use  to  you  ;  yet  you  will  not  regret  that  you  have  been 
able  to  infuse  a  little  life — especially  by  such  ideal  ways 
and  means — into  one  who,  like  myself,  is  so  nearly  at  the 
end  of  her  days  as  to  be  practically  already  dead. 

"  Now  one  more  *  last  request/  Peter  Ilich.  There  is 
one  particular  number  in  your  Oprichnik  about  which  I  am 
wildly  enthusiastic.  If  it  is  possible,  please  arrange  this 
for  me  as  a  funeral  march  for  four  hands  (pianoforte). 
I  am  sending  you  the  opera  in  which  I  have  marked  the 
passages  I  should  like  you  to  arrange.  If  my  request 
is  tiresome,  do  not  hesitate  to  refuse ;  I  shall  be  regretful, 
but  not  offended.  If  you  agree  to  it,  take  your  own 
time,  because  it  will  be  an  indulgence  I  have  no  right 
to  expect.  Will  you  allow  me  to  have  your  arrange- 
ments published,  and  if  so,  should  I  apply  to  Jurgenson 
or  Bessel? 

"  Furthermore,  allow  me  in  future  to  drop  all  formalities 
of  *  Dear  Sir,'  etc.,  in  my  letters  to  you ;  they  are  not  in 
my  style,  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  write  to  me  with- 
out any  of  this  conventional  politeness.  You  will  not 
refuse  me  this  favour  ? 

"  Yours,  with  devotion  and  respect, 

"  N.  F. 

"  P.S. — Do  not  forget  to  answer  my  first  request." 

Tchaikovsky  to  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  Moscow,  March  i6th  (28^),  1877. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  in  thinking 
that  I  am  able  to  understand  your  inward  mind  and 
temperament.  I  venture  to  believe  that  you  have  not  made 
a  mistake  in  considering  me  a  kindred  spirit.  Just  as  you 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  213 

have  taken  the  trouble  to  study  public  opinion  about 
me,  I,  too,  have  lost  no  opportunity  of  learning  some- 
thing about  you  and  your  manner  of  life.  I  have  fre- 
quently been  interested  in  you  as  a  fellow -creature  in 
whose  temperament  I  recognised  many  features  in  common 
with  my  own.  The  fact  that  we  both  suffer  from  the  same 
malady  would  alone  suffice  to  draw  us  together.  This 
malady  is  misanthropy;  but  a  peculiar  form  of  misan- 
thropy, which  certainly  does  not  spring  from  hatred  or 
contempt  for  mankind.  People  who  suffer  from  this  com- 
plaint do  not  fear  the  evil  which  others  may  bring  them,  so 
much  as  the  disillusionment,  that  craving  for  the  ideal, 
which  follows  upon  every  intimacy.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  was  so  possessed  by  this  fear  of  my  fellow-creatures 
that  I  stood  on  the  verge  of  madness.  The  circumstances 
of  my  life  were  such  that  I  could  not  possibly  escape  and 
hide  myself.  I  had  to  fight  it  out  with  myself,  and  God 
alone  knows  what  the  conflict  cost  me ! 

"  I  have  emerged  from  the  strife  victorious,  in  so  far  that 
life  has  ceased  to  be  unbearable.  I  was  saved  by  work — 
work  which  was  at  the  same  time  my  delight.  Thanks  to 
one  or  two  successes  which  have  fallen  to  my  share,  I  have 
taken  courage,  and  my  depression,  which  used  often  to  drive 
me  to  hallucinations  and  insanity,  has  almost  lost  its  power 
over  me. 

"  From  all  I  have  just  said,  you  will  understand  I  am  not 
at  all  surprised  that,  although  you  love  my  music,  you  do 
not  care  to  know  the  composer.  You  are  afraid  lest  you 
should  miss  in  my  personality  all  with  which  your  ideal 
imagination  has  endowed  me.  You  are  right.  I  feel  that 
on  closer  acquaintance  you  would  not  find  that  harmony 
between  me  and  my  music  of  which  you  have  dreamt. 

"  Accept  my  thanks  for  all  your  expressions  of  apprecia- 
tion for  my  music.  If  you  only  realised  how  good  and 
comforting  it  is  to  a  musician  to  know  one  soul  feels  so 
deeply  and  so  intensely  all  that  he  experienced  himself  while 
planning  and  finishing  his  work  !  I  am  indeed  grateful  for 
your  kind  and  cordial  sympathy.  I  will  not  say  what  is 
customary  under  the  circumstances :  that  I  am  unworthy 
of  your  praise.  Whether  I  write  well  or  ill,  I  write  from  an 
irresistible  inward  impulse.  I  speak  in  music  because  I 


214  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

have  something  to  say.  My  work  is  '  sincere,'  and  it  is  a 
great  consolation  to  find  you  value  this  sincerity. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  the  march  will  please  you  ....  if 
not,  do  not  hesitate  to  say  so.  Perhaps,  later  on,  I  might 
be  more  successful. 

"  I  send  you  a  cabinet  photograph  ;  not  a  very  good  one, 
however.  I  will  be  photographed  again  soon  (it  is  an 
excruciating  torture  to  me),  and  then  I  shall  be  very  pleased 
to  send  you  another  portrait." 


From  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"March  iStk  (30^),  1877. 

"  Your  march  is  so  wonderful,  Peter  Ilich,  that  it  throws 
me — as  I  hoped — into  a  state  of  blissful  madness ;  a  con- 
dition in  which  one  loses  consciousness  of  all  that  is  bitter 
and  offensive  in  life.  .  .  .  Listening  to  such  music,  I  seem 
to  soar  above  all  earthly  thoughts,  my  temples  throb,  my 
heart  beats  wildly,  a  mist  swims  before  my  eyes  and  my 
ears  drink  in  the  enchantment  of  the  music.  I  feel  that  all 
is  well  with  me,  and  I  do  not  want  to  be  reawakened.  Ah, 
God,  how  great  is  the  man  who  has  power  to  give  others 
such  moments  of  bliss  ! " 

About  the  end  of  April,  at  a  moment  when  Tchaikovsky 
found  himself  in  great  pecuniary  straits,  he  received  another 
commission  from  his  benefactress.  This  time  Frau  von 
Meek  asked  for  an  original  work  for  violin  and  pianoforte, 
and  proposed  a  very  extravagant  fee  in  return. 

Tchaikovsky  replied  as  follows  : — 

"May  ist  (i3M),  1877. 

"HONOURED  NADEJDA  FILARETOVNA, — In  spite  of 
obstinate  denials  on  the  part  of  a  friend  who  is  well  known 
to  both  of  us,1  I  have  good  reason  to  suppose  that  your  letter, 
which  I  received  early  this  morning,  is  due  to  a  well- 
intentioned  ruse  on  his  part.  Even  your  earlier  commis- 
sions awoke  in  me  a  suspicion  that  you  had  more  than 
one  reason  for  suggesting  them  :  on  the  one  hand,  you 

1  J.  Kotek. 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1877 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  215 

really  wished  to  possess  arrangements  of  some  of  my 
works;  on  the  other — knowing  my  material  difficulties — 
you  desired  to  help  me  through  them.  The  very  high 
fees  you  sent  me  for  my  easy  tasks  forced  me  to  this  con- 
clusion. This  time  I  am  convinced  that  the  second  reason 
is  almost  wholly  answerable  for  your  latest  commission. 
Between  the  lines  of  your  letter  I  read  your  delicacy  of 
feeling  and  your  kindness,  and  was  touched  by  your  way 
of  approaching  me.  At  the  same  time,  in  the  depths  of 
my  heart,  I  felt  such  an  intense  unwillingness  to  comply 
with  your  request  that  I  cannot  answer  you  in  the  affirma- 
tive. I  could  not  bear  any  insincerity  or  falsehood  to 
creep  into  our  mutual  relations.  This  would  undoubtedly 
have  been  the  case  had  I  disregarded  my  inward  prompt- 
ings, manufactured  a  composition  for  you  without  pleasure 
or  inspiration,  and  received  from  you  an  unsuitable  fee  in 
return.  Would  not  the  thought  have  passed  through  your 
mind  that  I  was  ready  to  undertake  any  kind  of  musical 
work  provided  the  fee  was  high  enough  ?  Would  you  not 
have  had  some  grounds  for  supposing  that,  had  you  been 
poor,  I  should  not  have  complied  with  your  requests  ? 
Finally,  our  intercourse  is  marred  by  one  painful  circum- 
stance— in  almost  all  our  letters  the  question  of  money 
crops  up.  Of  course  it  is  not  a  degradation  for  an  artist 
to  accept  money  for  his  trouble ;  but,  besides  labour,  a 
work  such  as  you  now  wish  me  to  undertake  demands  a 
certain  degree  of  what  is  called  inspiration,  and  at  the 
present  moment  this  is  not  at  my  disposal.  I  should  be 
guilty  of  artistic  dishonesty  were  I  to  abuse  my  technical 
skill  and  give  you  false  coin  in  exchange  for  true — only 
with  a  view  to  improving  my  pecuniary  situation. 

"At  the  present  moment  I  am  absorbed  in  the  symphony1 
I  began  during  the  winter.  I  should  like  to  dedicate  it  to 
you,  because  I  believe  you  would  find  in  it  -an  prhr>  Q{  yfinr. .,. 
most  intimate  thoughts  and  emotions.  I  Just  now  any 
other  work  worrier  be  a  burden — work,  I  mean,  that  would 
demand  a  certain  mood  and  change  of  thought.  Added 
to  this,  I  am  in  a  very  nervous,  worried  and  irritable  state, 
highly  unfavourable  to  composition,  and  even  my  sym- 
phony suffers  in  consequence." 

1  No.  4  in  F  minor. 


216  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF 

Tchaikovsky's  refusal  did  not  offend  Frau  von  Meek ; 
on  the  contrary,  she  was  deeply  grateful  for  his  honour- 
able and  straightforward  explanation.  The  incident  only 
served  to  strengthen  the  friendship  between  them,  and  the 
result  of  their  closer  and  more  outspoken  intercourse  was 
a  remittance  of  3,000  roubles  to  pay  his  debts.  Having 
made  herself  his  sole  creditor,  she  now  became  his  bene- 
factress and  patroness,  and  from  this  time  forward  took 
charge  of  his  material  welfare.  But  not  only  in  this  way 
did  she  warm  and  brighten  the  course  of  Tchaikovsky's 
life  ;  of  greater  value  was  the  deep  sympathy  in  which  her 
generosity  had  its  root,  a  sympathy  which  shows  in  every 
line  of  her  letters. 

"  I  am  looking  after  you  for  my  own  sake,"  she  wrote. 
"  My  most  precious  beliefs  and  sympathies  are  in  your 
keeping;  your  very  existence  gives  me  so  much  enjoyment, 
for  life  is  the  better  for  your  letters  and  your  music ; 
finally,  I  want  to  keep  you  for  the  service  of  the  art 
I  adore,  so  that  it  may  have  no  better  or  worthier  acolyte 
than  yourself.  So,  you  see,  my  thought  for  your  welfare 
is  purely  egotistical  and,  so  long  as  I  can  satisfy  this  wish, 
I  am  happy  and  grateful  to  you  for  accepting  my  help." 


II 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  GLIEBOVO,  June  z^rd  (July  $th),  1877. 

"DEAR  ANATOL, — You  are  right  in  supposing  that 
I  am  hiding  something  from  you,  but  you  have  made  a 
false  guess  as  to  what  this  'something'  really  is.  Here 
is  the  whole  matter.  At  the  end  of  May  an  event  took 
place  which  I  kept  from  you  and  from  all  my  family 
and  friends,  so  that  you  should  none  of  you  worry  your- 
selves with  unnecessary  anxieties  as  to  whether  I  had  done 
wisely  or  not.  I  wanted  to  get  the  business  over  and  confess 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  217 

it  afterwards.  I  am  going  to  be  married.  I  became  engaged 
at  the  end  of  May,  and  meant  to  have  the  wedding  early  in 
July,  without  saying  a  word  to  anyone.  Your  letter  shook 
my  resolve.  I  could  not  avoid  meeting  you,  and  I  felt 
I  could  not  play  a  comedy  of  lies  as  to  my  reason  for 
not  being  able  to  go  to  Kamenka.  Besides  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  not  right  to  get  married  without 
Dad's  blessing.  So  I  decided  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it.  The  enclosed  letter  is  for  Dad.  Do  not  worry 
about  me.  I  have  thought  it  over,  and  I  am  taking  this 
important  step  in  life  with  a  quiet  mind.  You  will  realise 
that  I  am  quite  calm  when  I  tell  you — with  the  prospect 
of  marriage  before  me — I  have  been  able  to  write  two- 
thirds  of  my  opera.1  My  bride  is  no  longer  very  young, 
but  quite  suitable  in  every  respect,  and  possessed  of  one 
great  attraction  :  she  is  in  love  with  me.  She  is  poor,  and 
her  name  is  Antonina  Ivanovna  Milioukov.  I  now  invite 
you  to  my  wedding.  You  and  Kotek  will  be  the  sole 
witnesses  of  the  ceremony.  Ask  father  not  to  say  a  word 
about  it  to  anyone.  I  will  write  to  Sasha  and  to  the  rest 
of  my  brothers  myself." 

To  his  father,  I.  P.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  GLIEBOVO, y#;*d?  2$rd  (July  $th\  1877. 

"DEAR  FATHER, — Your  son  Peter  intends  to  marry. 
But  as  he  must  not  be  united  without  your  blessing  upon 
his  new  life,  he  writes  to  ask  for  it.  My  bride  is  poor,  but 
a  good,  honourable  woman,  who  is  deeply  attached  to  me. 
Dear  Dad,  you  know  a  man  does  not  rush  thoughtlessly 
into  marriage  at  my  age,  so  do  not  be  anxious.  I  am  sure 
my  future  wife  will  do  all  she  can  to  make  my  life  peace- 
ful and  happy.  .  .  .  Take  care  of  yourself,  dear,  and  write 
to  me  at  once.  I  kiss  your  hands." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Moscow,  July  yd  (15^),  1877., 

"First  of  all  I  must  tell  you  that  at  the  end  of  May  I 
became  engaged,  to  my  own  surprise.  This  is  how  it 

1  Eugene  Oniegin. 


218  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

came  about.  One  day  I  received  a  letter  from  a  girl 
whom  I  had  already  seen  and  met.  I  learnt  from  this 
letter  that  for  a  long  time  past  she  had  honoured  me  with 
her  love.  The  letter  was  so  warm  and  sincere  that  I 
decided  to  answer  it,  which  I  had  always  carefully  avoided 
doing  in  other  cases  of  the  kind.  Without  going  into  the 
details  of  this  correspondence,  I  will  merely  say  that  I 
ended  by  accepting  her  invitation  to  visit  her.  Why  did 
I  do  this?  Now  it  seems  as  though  some  hidden  force 
drew  me  to  this  girl.  When  we  met  I  told  her  again  that 
I  could  only  offer  gratitude  and  sympathy  in  exchange 
for  her  love.  But  afterwards  I  began  to  reflect  upon  the 
folly  of  my  proceedings.  If  I  did  not  care  for  her,  if  I  did 
not  want  to  encourage  her  affections,  why  did  I  go  to  see 
her,  and  where  will  all  this  end  ?  From  the  letters  which 
followed,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that,  having  gone  so 
far,  I  should  make  her  really  unhappy  and  drive  her  to 
some  tragic  end  were  I  to  bring  about  a  sudden  rupture. 
I  found  myself  confronted  by  a  painful  dilemma :  either  I 
must  keep  my  freedom  at  the  expense  of  this  woman's 
ruin  (this  is  no  empty  word,  for  she  loved  me  intensely), 
or  I  must  marry.  I  could  but  choose  the  latter  course. 
Therefore  I  went  one  evening  to  my  future  wife  and  told 
her  frankly  that  I  could  not  love  her,  but  that  1  would  be 
a  devoted  and  grateful  friend  ;  I  described  to  her  in  detail 
my  character,  my  irritability,  my  nervous  temperament, 
my  misanthropy — finally,  my  pecuniary  situation.  Then 
I  asked  her  if  she  would  care  to  be  my  wife.  Her  answer 
was,  of  course,  in  the  affirmative.  The  agonies  I  have 
endured  since  that  evening  defy  description.  It  is  very 
natural.  To  live  thirty  -  seven  years  with  an  innate 
antipathy  to  matrimony,  and  then  suddenly,  by  force 
of  circumstances,  to  find  oneself  engaged  to  a  woman  with 
whom  one  is  not  in  the  least  in  love — is  very  painful.  To 
give  myself  time  to  consider  and  grow  used  to  the  idea,  I 
decided  not  to  upset  my  original  plans,  but  to  spend  a 
month  in  the  country  just  the  same.  I  did  so,  and  the 
quiet,  rural  life  among  congenial  friends,  surrounded  by 
beautiful  scenery,  has  had  a  very  beneficial  effect.  I  con- 
soled myself  with  the  thought  that  we  cannot  escape  our 
fate,  and  there  was  something  fatalistic  in  my  meeting 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  219 

with  this  girl.  Besides,  I  know  from  experience  that  the 
terrible,  agitating  unknown  often  proves  beneficial  and  vice 
versa.  How  often  we  are  disappointed  in  the  happiness 
which  we  have  expected  and  striven  to  attain  !  Let  come 
what  come  may ! 

"Now  a  few  words  as  to  my  future  wife.  Her  name 
is  Antonina  Ivanovna  Milioukov,  and  she  is  twenty-eight. 
She  is  rather  good-looking,  and  of  spotless  reputation.  She 
keeps  herself,  and  lives  alone — from  a  feeling  of  independ- 
ence— although  she  has  a  very  affectionate  mother.  She 
is  quite  poor  and  of  moderate  education,  but  apparently 
very  good  and  capable  of  a  loyal  attachment. 

"  During  the  month  of  July  I  finished  a  large  part  of  the 
opera,  and  might  have  accomplished  more  but  for  my 
agitated  frame  of  mind.  I  have  never  regretted  my  choice 
of  subject  for  an  instant.  I  cannot  understand  how  it  is 
that  you  who  love  music  cannot  appreciate  Poushkin,  who, 
by  the  power  of  his  genius,  often  oversteps  the  limitations 
of  poetry  and  enters  the  illimitable  sphere  of  music.  This 
is  no  mere  phrase.  Apart  from  the  substance  and  form  of 
his  verses,  they  have  another  quality,  something  in  their 
sequence  of  sound  which  penetrates  to  our  inmost  soul. 
This  '  something '  is  music. 

"  Wish  that  I  may  not  lose  courage  in  the  new  life  which 
lies  before  me.  God  knows  I  am  filled  with  the  best  of 
intentions  towards  the  future  companion  of  my  life,  and  if 
we  are  both  unhappy  I  shall  not  be  to  blame.  My  con- 
science is  clear.  If  I  am  marrying  without  love,  it  is 
because  circumstances  have  left  me  no  alternative.  I  gave 
way  thoughtlessly  to  her  first  expressions  of  love  ;  I  ought 
never  to  have  replied  to  them.  But  having  once  encouraged 
her  affection  by  answering  her  letter  and  visiting  her,  I  was 
bound  to  act  as  I  have  done.  But,  as  I  say,  my  conscience 
is  clear  :  I  have  neither  lied  to  her,  nor  deceived  her. 
I  told  her  what  she  could  expect  from  me,  and  what  she 
must  not  count  upon  receiving." 

Tchaikovsky  sent  a  similar  intimation  to  his  sister  at 
Kamenka,  and  to  his  brother  Modeste.  As  he  had  antici- 
pated, his  father  was  the  only  person  who  really  rejoiced  at 
the  news.  He  replied  as  follows  :— - 


220  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

From  I.  P.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  PAVLOVSK,  June  27 th  (July  §th\  1877. 

"  MY  DEAR  SON  PETER, — Toly  gave  me  your  letter  in 
which  you  ask  for  my  blessing  upon  your  marriage.  This 
news  delighted  me  so  that  I  was  ready  to  jump  for  joy. 
God  be  praised !  The  Lord's  blessing  be  upon  you !  I 
have  no  doubt  that  your  chosen  bride  is  equally  worthy  of 
the  same  good  wishes  which  your  father — an  old  man 
of  eighty-three — and  all  your  family  bestow  upon  you  ; 
and  not  your  family  only,  but  all  who  have  come  in  contact 
with  you. 

"  Is  it  not  so,  dear  Antonina  Ivanovna  ?  After  yesterday 
you  must  give  me  leave  to  call  you  my  God-sent  daughter, 
and  to  bid  you  love  your  chosen  husband,  for  he  is  indeed 
worthy  of  it.  And  you,  dear  bridegroom,  let  me  know  the 
day  and  hour  of  your  wedding,  and  I  will  come  myself  (if 
you  agree  to  it)  to  give  you  my  blessing.  .  .  ." 

Of  all  Tchaikovsky's  family,  Anatol  was  the  only  one 
able  to  go  to  Mocsow,  and  he  arrived  too  late  to  prevent 
his  brother  from  taking  the  rash  and  foolish  step  he  had 
decided  upon. 

The  marriage  took  place  on  July  6th  (i8th). 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  step  by  step  the  whole  sad 
story  of  my  brother's  marriage.  First  of  all,  I  do  not 
possess  the  necessary  sense  of  impartiality;  secondly,  I 
have  no  evidence  for  the  other  side  of  the  case,  nor 
any  hope  of  procuring  it  in  the  future ;  and  thirdly, 
I  do  not  wish  to  hurt  the  legitimate  sensitiveness  of 
several  people  still  living,  I  can  only  say  that  from  the 
first  hour  of  his  married  life  Tchaikovsky  had  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  rash  and  ill-considered  act  and  was  pro- 
foundly miserable. 

On  the  evening  of  the  wedding-day  the  newly  married 
couple  left  for  St.  Petersburg  and  returned  to  Moscow  at 
the  end  of  a  week.  They  then  paid  a  short  visit  to  the 
bride's  mother,  who  lived  in  the  country,  after  which  it  was 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  221 

settled  that  Tchaikovsky  should  go  alone  to  Kamenka, 
while  his  wife  prepared  the  new  home  in  Moscow. 

On  July  26th  (August  7th)  he  wrote  to  N.  F.  von  Meek  : 
"  I  leave  in  an  hour's  time.  A  few  days  longer,  and  I  swear 
I  should  have  gone  mad." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  August  2nd  (14^),  1877. 

"  If  I  were  to  say  that  I  had  returned  to  my  normal 
condition,  it  would  not  be  true.  But  this  is  impossible. 
Only  time  can  cure  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  gradu- 
ally I  shall  become  reconciled.  I  am  quiet  here,  and  begin 
to  look  the  future  in  the  face  without  fear.  One  thing 
annoys  me;  I  am  absolutely  incapable  of  taking  up  my 
work.  Yet  it  would  be  the  finest  remedy  for  my  morbid 
state  of  mind.  I  must  hope  that  the  hunger  for  work  will 
return  ere  long." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"August  nth  (2$rd),  1877. 

"  I  am  much  better.  ...  I  feel  sure  I  shall  now  triumph 
over  my  difficult  and  critical  situation.  I  must  struggle 
against  my  feeling  of  estrangement  from  my  wife  and  try 
to  keep  all  her  good  qualities  in  view.  For  undoubtedly 
she  has  good  qualities. 

"  I  have  so  far  improved  that  I  have  taken  in  hand  the 
orchestration  of  your  symphony.  One  of  my  brothers, 
whose  judgment  I  value,  is  very  pleased  with  such  parts  of 
it  as  I  have  played  to  him.  I  hope  you  will  be  equally 
pleased.  That  is  the  chief  thing." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  August  i2th  (24^),  1877. 

"  You  are  right,  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  there  are  times  in 
life  when  one  must  fortify  oneself  to  endure  and  create  for 
oneself  some  kind  of  joy,  however  shadowy.  Here  is  a 
case  in  point :  either  live  with  people  and  know  that  you 
are  condemned  to  every  kind  of  misery,  or  escape  some- 
where and  isolate  yourself  from  every  possibility  of  inter- 


222  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

course,  which,  for  the  molt  part,  only  leads  to  pain  and 
grief.  My  dream  has  always  been  to  work  as  long  as  I  had 
power  to  do  so,  and  when  I  felt  convinced  that  I  could  do 
no  more,  to  hide  myself  somewhere,  far  away  from  the 
strife,  and  look  on  at  the  agitations  of  the  human  ant-hill. 
This  dream  of  being  at  rest  in  some  remote  corner  has 
been  the  great  consolation  and  goal  of  my  life.  Now,  by 
my  own  act,  I  have  deprived  myself  of  all  hope  of  ever 
reaching  this  harbour  of  refuge.  .  .  .  My  new  tie  forces 
me  into  the  arena  of  life — there  is  no  escape  from  it.  As 
you  say,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to  set  to  and 
create  some  artificial  happiness.  .  .  . 

"  Our  symphony  progresses.  The  first  movement  will 
give  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble  as  regards  orchestration. 
It  is  very  lo^^anctcom^tfeited ;  at  the  same~time~r^oh- 
sider  it  the^best  movement  The  three  remaining  move- 
ments are  very  simple,  and  it  will  be  pleasant  and  easy  to 
orchestrate  them.  The  Scherzo  will  have  quite  a  new 
orchestral  effect,  from  which  I  expect  great  things.  At 
first  only  the  string  orchestra  is  heard,  always  pizzicato. 
In  the  triojhe  wood- wind  plays  by  itself,  and  at  the  end 
of  the"  Scherzo  all  three  groups  of  instruments  join  in 
a  short  phrase.  I  think  this  effect  will  be  interesting." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"K.AMENKA,  August  $Qth  (September  nth),  1877. 

"The  weather  grows  more  and  more  autumnal.  The 
fields  are  bare,  and  it  is  time  I  took  my  departure.  My 
wife  writes  that  our  rooms  are  now  ready.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  September  i2th  (24^),  1877. 

"  I  have  not  yet  been  to  the  Conservatoire.  My  classes 
only  begin  to-day.  The  arrangements  of  our  home  leave 
nothing  to  be  desired.  My  wife  has  done  all  she  possibly 
could  to  please  me.  It  is  really  a  comfortable  and  pretty 
home.  All  is  clean,  new  and  artistic. 

"The  orchestration  of  the  first  movement  of  our  symphony 
is  quite  finished.  Now  I  shall  give  myself  a  few  days  to 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  223 

grow  used  to  my  new  life.    In  any  case  the  symphony  will 
not  be  ready  before  the  end  of  the  winter." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  September  \2th  (24^),  1877. 

".  .  .  My  wife  came  to  meet  me.  Poor  woman,  she  has 
gone  through  some  miserable  experiences  in  getting  our 
home  ready;  while  awaiting  my  arrival  she  has  had  to 
change  her  cook  twice.  She  had  to  take  one  into  the 
police  court.  Twice  she  was  robbed,  and  for  the  last  few 
days  she  has  been  obliged  to  remain  at  home  all  day,  not 
daring  to  leave  the  place  in  the  care  of  the  cook.  But  our 
home  pleases  me ;  it  is  pretty,  comfortable,  and  not  alto- 
gether wanting  in  luxury." 

Shortly  after  writing  this  letter  Tchaikovsky's  health 
broke  down.  According  to  a  telegram  which  he  sent  to 
Petersburg,  he  left  Moscow  suddenly  on  September  24th 
(October  6th)  in  a  condition  bordering  upon  insanity. 

Anatol  says  that  his  brother  was  scarcely  recognisable 
when  he  met  him  on  the  platform  of  the  Nicholas  Station 
in  Petersburg ;  his  face  had  entirely  changed  in  the  course 
of  a  month.  From  the  station  he  was  taken  to  the  nearest 
hotel,  where,  after  a  violent  nervous  crisis,  he  became  un- 
conscious, in  which  state  he  remained  for  forty-eight  hours. 
When  this  crisis  was  over,  the  doctors  ordered  a  complete 
change  of  life  and  scene  as  the  sole  chance  of  recovery. 
Anatol  went  immediately  to  Moscow,  hastily  arranged  his 
brother's  affairs,  left  his  wife  to  the  care  of  her  family,  for 
the  time  being,  and  then  took  the  invalid  away  as  soon  as 
possible. 

Not  once  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life — neither  at 
the  time  nor  subsequently — did  Tchaikovsky,  in  speech 
or  writing,  lay  the  blame  for  this  unhappy  incident  upon 
his  wife.  Following  his  example,  therefore,  I  cannot  com- 
plete this  chapter  without  exonerating  her  from  every 
shadow  of  responsibility  for  all  that  happened. 


224  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  himself  declared  that  "she  always  behaved 
honourably  and  with  sincerity,"  never  consciously  deceived 
him  and  was  "unwittingly  and  involuntarily"  the  cause  of 
all  her  husband's  misery. 

As  to  Tchaikovsky's  treatment  of  his  wife,  the  sternest 
judge  must  admit  that  it  was  frank  and  honourable  and 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  mislead  her.  Both  of  them 
believed,  under  the  influence  of  an  abnormal  and  fatal 
exaltation,  that,  after  self-revelation,  they  understood  each 
other  and  were  honestly  convinced  they  would  get  on 
together.  It  was  not  until  they  entered  into  closer  relation- 
ship that  they  discovered,  to  their  horror,  they  were  far 
from  having  told  each  other  all ;  that  a  gulf  of  misunder- 
standing lay  between  them  which  could  never  be  bridged 
over,  that  they  had  been  wandering  as  it  were  in  a  dream, 
and  had  unintentionally  deceived  each  other. 

Under  the  circumstances  separation  was  the  only  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty,  the  sole  method  of  regaining  their 
peace  of  mind  and  of  saving  Tchaikovsky's  life. 

On  October  3rd  (i5th)  the  composer  reached  Berlin, 
accompanied  by  his  brother  Anatol.  The  dangerous  crisis 
in  his  illness  was  over  and  a  slow  convalescence  began. 


Ill 

Tchaikovsky  selected  Clarens  as  his  first  resting-place, 
and  settled  down  at  the  Villa  Richelieu  on  the  shore  of  the 
Lake  of  Geneva. 

He  had  only  money  enough  to  last  five  or  six  weeks  ;  but 
at  the  end  of  that  time  he  had  no  inclination — nor  was  he 
in  a  condition — to  return  to  his  work  in  Moscow.  His 
constitution  was  so  shaken  and  impaired  by  his  nervous 
illness  that  at  least  a  year's  rest  was  necessary  for  his  com- 
plete restoration. 

There  was  some  hope  of  getting  a  little  money  in  the 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  225 

winter,  if  the  Principal  of  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire, 
Karl  Davidov,  appointed  him  delegate  for  the  forthcoming 
exhibition  in  Paris.  But  the  chance  was  very  uncertain, 
and  even  if  he  were  nominated,  the  office  was  not  very  well 
suited  to  Tchaikovsky,  because  it  demanded  not  only  great 
energy,  but  constant  social  intercourse,  whereas  the  con- 
dition of  his  health  needed  complete  repose. 

All  the  same,  Tchaikovsky  would  have  been  glad  of  the 
appointment  as  affording  the  one  means  of  remaining  longer 
abroad. 

This  anxiety  as  to  his  future  counteracted  in  some 
degree  the  benefit  derived  from  the  quiet  and  solitude  of 
Clarens.  To  escape  from  his  difficulties  Tchaikovsky  was 
obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  kindness  of  Nicholas 
Rubinstein  and  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

Rubinstein  interested  himself  in  the  matter  of  the 
delegation,  and  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  It  has  been  decided  to  send  you  all  the  money  which 
is  left  over  from  the  expenses  of  your  classes  in  monthly 
instalments.  Try  to  calm  yourself;  take  care  of  your 
health,  and  fear  nothing.  You  are  far  too  highly  valued 
as  a  musician  to  be  compromised  by  secondary  consider- 
ations." 

Tchaikovsky  replied,  expressing  his  gratitude  and  re- 
porting the  progress  of  his  opera. 

"  The  first  act  of  Eugene  Oniegin  will  soon  be  in  your 
hands,"  he  writes.  "  I  shall  be  very  happy  if  it  pleases  you. 
I  composed  it  with  great  enthusiasm.  A  performance  at 
the  Conservatoire  is  just  my  ideal.  The  opera  is  intended 
for  a  modest  setting  and  a  small  theatre." 

From  Nicholas  Rubinstein  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"  FRIEND  PETER, — I  am  very  glad  you  are  getting  better 
and  gradually  returning  to  work.  I  am  full  of  curiosity  about 
Eugene  Oniegin.  Be  so  kind  as  to  assign  the  parts.  Even 


226  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

if  they  have  to  be  changed  afterwards,  it  is  important  to 
know  your  views.     Can  I  also  count  on  the  Symphony? 

"  I  have  seen  Frau  von  Meek.  We  talked  a  great  deal 
about  you.  I  think  she  will  send  you  another  commission, 
or  money  direct." 

Rubinstein  was  not  mistaken.  Even  before  she  received 
Tchaikovsky's  letter  asking  for  assistance,  Nadejda  von 
Meek  had  decided  to  take  upon  herself  the  responsibility 
of  his  maintenance,  and  asked  him  to  accept  an  annual 
allowance  of  6,000  roubles  (.£600).  In  reply  to  his  request, 
which  was  accompanied  by  many  apologies,  she  wrote  as 
follows : — 

".  .  .  .  Are  we  really  such  strangers?  Do  you  not 
realise  how  much  I  care  for  you,  how  I  wish  you  all  good  ? 
In  my  opinion  it  is  not  the  tie  of  sex  or  kindred  which 
gives  these  rights,  but  the  sense  of  mental  and  spiritual 
communion.  You  know  how  many  happy  moments  you 
have  given  me,  how  grateful  I  am,  how  indispensable  you 
are  to  me,  and  how  necessary  it  is  that  you  should  remain 
just  as  you  were  created  ;  consequently  what  I  do  is  not 
done  for  your  sake,  but  for  my  own.  Why  should  you 
spoil  my  pleasure  in  taking  care  of  you,  and  make  me  feel 
that  I  am  not  very  much  to  you  after  all  ?  You  hurt  me. 
If  I  wanted  something  from  you,  of  course  you  would  give 
it  me — is  it  not  so  ?  Very  well,  then  we  cry  quits.  Do  not 
interfere  with  my  management  of  your  domestic  economy, 
Peter  Ilich. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  think,  but  for  my  part  I 
would  rather  we  kept  our  friendship  and  correspondence 
to  ourselves.  Therefore  in  talking  to  Nicholas  Rubinstein 
I  spoke  of  you  as  a  complete  stranger ;  I  inquired,  as 
though  quite  in  the  dark,  your  reasons  for  leaving  Moscow, 
where  you  had  gone,  how  long  you  were  going  to  remain 
away,  and  so  on.  He  was  anxious,  I  thought,  to  make  me 
take  a  warmer  interest  in  you,  but  I  kept  to  the  part 
of  a  disinterested  admirer  of  your  talents." 

Thus,  thanks  to  his  new  friend,  Tchaikovsky  became 
an  independent  man  as  regards  his  material  welfare,  and 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  227 

a  new  life  opened  out  before  him,  such  as  hitherto  he  had 
only  imagined  as  an  unrealisable  dream.  He  had  attained 
that  freedom  of  existence  which  was  indispensable  to  his 
creative  activity.  Now,  at  last,  he  was  at  liberty  to  employ 
his  time  as  he  pleased,  and  to  arrange  his  manner  of  living 
to  suit  his  own  tastes  and  requirements. 


IV 

In  consequence  of  this  entire  change  of  circumstances, 
Tchaikovsky  abandoned  his  original  idea  of  spending 
the  whole  winter  in  Clarens.  In  thanking  his  benefactress 
for  her  generous  help,  he  says  : — 

"  I  shall  only  remain  here  until — thanks  to  you — I 
receive  the  wherewithal  to  go  to  Italy,  which  calls  me 
with  all  its  force.  It  is  very  quiet  and  very  beautiful  here, 
but  somewhat  depressing. 

"You  say  liberty  is  unattainable,  and  that  there  is 
no  method  of  procuring  it.  Perhaps  it  is  impossible  to  be 
completely  free  ;  but  even  this  comparative  freedom  is  the 
greatest  joy  to  me.  At  least  I  can  work.  Work  was 
impossible  in  the  vicinity  of  one  who  was  so  much  to 
me  externally,  while  remaining  a  stranger  to  my  inner 
life.  I  have  been  through  a  terrible  ordeal,  and  it  is 
marvellous  that  my  soul  still  lives,  though  deeply  wounded." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  CLARENS,  October  2$th  (November  6fA),  1877. 
"Your  letter  is  so  warm  and  friendly  that  it  would 
suffice  of  itself  to  reawaken  in  me  the  desire  for  life,  and  to 
help  me  to  endure  all  its  miseries.  I  thank  you  for  every- 
thing, my  invaluable  friend.  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  shall 
ever  have  an  opportunity  of  proving  that  I  am  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  you  in  return  ;  I  think  you  will 
never  be  compelled  by  circumstances  to  demand  any 
supreme  service  from  my  friendship  ;  therefore  I  can  only 


228  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

please  and  serve  you  by  means  of  my  music.  Nadejda 
Filaretovna,  every  note  which  comes  from  my  pen  in  future 
is  dedicated  to  you  !  To  you  I  owe  this  reawakened  love 
of  work,  and  I  will  never  forget  for  a  moment  that  you 
have  made  it  possible  to  carry  on  my  career.  Much,  much 
still  remains  for  me  to  do !  Without  false  modesty,  I  may 
tell  you  that  all  I  have  done  so  far  seems  to  me  poor 
and  imperfect  compared  with  what  I  can,  must,  and  will  do 
in  the  future. 

"  I  like  my  present  quarters  very  well.  Apart?-  from  the 
glorious  view  of  the  lake  and  mountains  of  Savoy,  with 
the  Dent  du  Midi,  which  I  get  from  my  windows,  I  am 
pleased  with  the  villa  itself.  .  .  .  But  I  must  confess  I  am 
continually  haunted  by  the  thought  of  a  long  visit  to 
Italy,  so  that  I  have  decided  to  start  for  Rome  with  my 
brother  about  a  fortnight  hence.  Afterwards  we  shall  go 
on  to  Naples  or  Sorrento.  After  a  few  days  amid  the 
mountains,  have  you  never  had  the  yearning,  from  which  I 
think  no  northerner  ever  escapes,  for  wide  horizons  and 
the  unbounded  expanse  of  the  plains?  .  .  .  Gradually  I 
am  going  back  to  my  work,  and  I  can  now  definitely  say 
that  our  Symphony  will  be  finished  by  December  at  the 
latest,  so  you  will  be  able  to  hear  it  this  season.  May  this 
music,  which  is  so  closely  bound  up  with  the  thought  of 
you,  speak  to  you  and  tell  you  that  I  love  you  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  O  my  best  and  incomparable  friend !  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"CLARENS,  October  30^  (November  iiffy,  1877. 

"...  Whenever  I  think  calmly  over  all  I  have  been 
through,  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  a  Provi- 
dence who  has  specially  cared  for  me.  Not  only  have  I 
been  saved  from  ruin — which  seemed  at  one  time  inevit- 
able— but  things  are  now  well  with  me,  and  I  see  ahead 
the  dawn-light  of  happiness  and  success.  As  regards  reli- 
gion, I  must  confess  I  have  a  dual  temperament,  and  to 
this  day  I  have  found  no  satisfactory  solution  of  the 
problem.  On  the  one  hand,  my  reason  obstinately  refuses 
to  accept  the  dogmatic  teaching  either  of  the  orthodox 
Russian,  or  of  any  other  Christian  Church.  For  instance, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  229 

however  much  I  may  think  about  it,  I  can  see  no  sense  in 
the  doctrine  of  retribution  and  reward.  How  is  it  possible 
to  draw  a  hard-and-fast  line  between  the  sheep  and  the 
goats?  What  is  to  be  rewarded  and  what  is  to  be 
punished  ?  Equally  impossible  to  me  is  the  belief  in  im- 
mortality. Here  I  am  quite  in  accord  with  the  pantheistic 
view  of  immortality  and  the  future  life. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  my  whole  upbringing,  customs  of 
childhood,  and  the  poetical  image  of  Christ  and  all  that 
belongs  to  His  teaching,  are  so  deeply  implanted  in  me, 
that  involuntarily  I  find  myself  calling  upon  Him  in  my 
grief  and  thanking  Him  in  my  happiness." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"FLORENCE,  November  6th  (iSth),  1877. 

"  I  am  ashamed,  not  without  reason,  to  have  to  write 
you  a  melancholy  letter.  At  first  I  thought  I  would  not 
write  at  all,  but  the  desire  to  talk  with  you  a  little  got  the 
upper  hand.  It  is  impossible  to  be  insincere  with  you, 
even  when  I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  concealing  my 
thoughts. 

"  We  came  here  quite  unexpectedly.  I  was  so  unwell  in 
Milan  that  I  decided  to  remain  a  day  here,  which  our 
tickets  permit  us  to  do.  My  indisposition  is  not  of  such 
great  importance.  The  real  trouble  is  my  depression — a 
wearing,  maddening  depression,  which  never  leaves  me  for 
a  moment.  In  Clarens,  where  I  was  living  an  absolutely 
quiet  life,  I  was  often  overcome  by  melancholy.  Not  being 
able  to  account  for  these  attacks  of  depression,  I  attri- 
buted them  to  the  mountains.  What  childishness  !  I 
persuaded  myself  that  I  need  only  cross  the  frontiers  of 
Italy,  and  a  life  of  perfect  happiness  would  begin  !  Non- 
sense !  Here  I  feel  a  hundred  times  worse.  The  weather 
is  glorious,  the  days  are  as  warm  as  in  July,  there  is  some- 
thing to  see,  something  to  distract  me,  and  yet  I  am  tor- 
mented by  an  overwhelming,  gigantic  depression.  How 
to  account  for  it  I  do  not  know.  If  I  had  not  asked  all 
my  correspondents  to  address  their  letters  to  me  in  Rome, 
I  think  I  should  not  travel  any  further.  I  must  get  as 
far  as  that,  it  is  clear,  but  I  am  not  fit  just  now  for  a 


230  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

tourist's  life.  ...  I  have  not  come  here  for  sight-seeing, 
but  to  cure  myself  by  work.  At  the  present  moment  it 
seems  to  me  impossible  to  work  in  Italy,  especially  in 
Rome.  I  regret  terribly  the  peace  and  quiet  of  Clarens, 
where  I  had  made  a  successful  effort  to  return  to  my  work, 
and  I  am  seriously  wondering  whether  it  might  not  be 
better  to  return  there.  .  .  .  What  will  become  of  me  when 
my  brother  goes  ?  I  cannot  think  of  that  moment  with- 
out a  shudder.  But  I  neither  wish,  nor  am  I  able,  to 
return  to  Russia.  You  see  how  I  keep  turning  in  this 
cercle  vicieux.  .  .  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  ROME,  November  ^th  (19^),  1877. 

"...  We  arrived  in  Rome  quite  early  this  morning. 
This  time  I  entered  the  famous  city  with  a  troubled  heart. 
How  true  it  is  that  we  do  not  draw  our  happiness  from  our 
surroundings,  but  from  our  inward  being!  This  has  been 
sufficiently  proved  by  my  present  tour  in  Italy. 

"...  I  am  still  quite  a  sick  man.  I  cannot  bear  the 
least  noise  as  yet.  Yesterday  in  Florence,  and  to-day  in 
Rome,  every  vehicle  that  rolled  by  threw  me  into  an  insane 
rage  ;  every  sound,  every  cry  exasperated  my  nerves.  The 
crowds  of  people  flowing  through  the  narrow  streets  annoy 
me  so  that  every  stranger  I  meet  seems  to  me  an  enemy. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  begin  to  realise  the  folly  of 
my  journey  to  Rome.  My  brother  and  I  have  just  been 
to  St.  Peter's :  all  I  have  gained  by  it  is  overwhelming 
physical  fatigue.  Of  the  noisy  streets,  the  bad  air,  the 
dirt,  I  will  say  nothing.  I  know  my  morbid  condition 
makes  me  see  only  the  bad  side  of  Rome  in  all  its  hateful- 
ness,  while  the  beauties  of  the  city  seem  veiled  to  my 
eyes ;  but  this  is  a  poor  consolation.  Yesterday  I  dis- 
cussed with  my  brother  what  we  should  do  next,  and 
came  to  this  conclusion.  It  is  evident  that  I  cannot  con- 
tinue my  tour.  If  I  feel  ill  in  Florence  and  Rome,  it  will 
be  just  as  bad  in  Naples.  A  fortnight  hence  my  brother 
must  leave  me ;  in  order  somewhat  to  prolong  our  time 
together,  I  have  decided  to  accompany  him  as  far  as 
Vienna.  I  have  also  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  ought 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  231 

not  to  be  left  alone.  Therefore  I  have  sent  for  my  servant, 
who  is  leading  an  idle  life  in  Moscow.  I  shall  await  his 
coming  in  Vienna,  and  then  return  to  Clarens,  where  I 
think  of  staying. 

"  To-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  we  shall  go  to  Venice  for 
a  few  days  before  starting  for  Vienna.  Venice  is  quiet, 
and  I  can  work  there  ;  and  it  is  very  important  I  should 
do  so.  .  .  ." 

To  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 

"ROME,  November  %th  (20^),  1877. 

"  I  am  agitated  by  uncertainty  as  to  whether  the  first 
act1  will  please  you  or  not.  Pray  do  not  give  it  up  on 
your  first  impressions :  they  are  often  so  deceptive.  I 
wrote  that  music  with  such  love  and  delight !  The  follow- 
ing numbers  were  specially  dear  to  me:  (i)  the  first  duet 
behind  the  scenes,  which  afterwards  becomes  the  quartet ; 
(2)  Lensky's  Arioso ;  (3)  the  scene  in  Tatiana's  room  ;  (4) 
the  chorus  of  maidens.  If  you  can  tell  me  it  pleases  you 
and  Albrecht  (I  value  his  opinion  so  highly),  it  will  make 
me  very  happy.  As  soon  as  I  have  finished  the  first  scene 
of  the  second  act  and  sent  it  to  you,  I  will  attack  the  Sym- 
phony with  all  zeal,  and  so  I  implore  you  to  keep  a  place 
for  it  at  the  Symphony  Concerts. 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  friend,  with  all  my  heart  for  the  many 
things  you  have  done  for  me,  and  for  your  kind  letter,  in 
which  I  recognise  with  joy  your  loyal  friendship.  But,  for 
God's  sake,  do  not  summon  me  back  to  Moscow  before 
next  September.  I  know  I  shall  find  nothing  there  but 
terrible  mental  suffering." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"VENICE,  November  nth  (23^,  1877. 
"DEAR  NADEJDA  FILARETOVNA, — The  last  day  in 
Rome  compensated  for  all  my  troubles,  but  it  was  also 
rather  fatiguing.  In  the  morning  I  had  to  go  in  search  of 
the  Symphony  (No.  4),  which  had  been  sent  from  Clarens. 
I  inquired  at  the  post  office,  at  the  station,  at  various  other 
offices.  Everywhere  they  received  me  politely,  looked  for 

1  Of  Eugene  Oniegin. 


232  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  parcel,  and  failed  to  find  it.  Imagine  my  anxiety.  If 
the  Symphony  had  been  lost,  I  should  never  have  had  the 
energy  to  rewrite  it  from  memory.  At  last  I  requested 
that  it  should  be  diligently  sought  for,  and — behold  the 
parcel  was  discovered  !  It  was  a  great  comfort. 

"  Afterwards  I  visited  the  Capitol  with  my  brother.  I 
found  much  that  was  interesting  here  and  which  touched 
me  directly — for  instance,  the  statue  of  the  Dying  Gladi- 
ator. I  cannot  say  the  same  of  the  Venus  of  the  Capitol, 
which  still  leaves  me  quite  cold,  as  on  my  first  visit.  At 
two  o'clock  we  went  to  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  and 
looked  into  the  Villa  Borghese  as  we  passed,  to  see  the 
collection  of  pictures.  Here,  too,  I  was  capable  of  taking 
in  some  artistic  impressions.  One  picture  particularly 
attracted  my  attention — the  Death  of  a  Saint  (Jerome,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken),  by  Domenicchino.  But  I  must  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  am  no  enthusiastic  amateur  of  pictures,  and 
I  lack  any  profound  insight  into  the  subtleties  of  painting 
or  sculpture.  I  soon  get  tired  in  the  galleries.  Among  a 
number  of  pictures  there  are  seldom  more  than  two  or 
three  which  remain  firmly  fixed  in  my  mind's  eye;  but 
these  I  study  in  every  detail,  and  endeavour  to  enter  into 
their  spirit,  while  I  run  through  the  others  with  a  super- 
ficial glance.  .  .  .  Besides  the  picture  by  Domenicchino, 
some  of  Raphael's  pleased  me  very  much,  especially  the 
portraits  of  Caesar  Borgia  and  Sixtus  V.1 

"  The  grandest,  the  most  overpowering,  of  all  the  sights 
I  saw  was  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars.  What  gigantic  pro- 
portions, what  wealth  of  beauty !  At  every  step  we  are 
reminded  of  the  past ;  we  endeavour  to  reconstruct  it  and 
the  further  we  explore  it,  the  more  vivid  are  the  gorgeous 
pictures  which  crowd  the  imagination.  The  weather  was 
lovely.  Every  moment  we  came  upon  some  fresh  glimpse 
of  the  city,  which  is  as  dirty  as  Moscow,  but  far  more 
picturesquely  situated,  and  possessing  infinitely  greater 

1  The  condition  of  Tchaikovsky's  health  is  probably  accountable  for  many 
errors  in  this  letter.  In  1877  the  pictures  of  which  he  speaks  were  not  in  the 
Villa^  but  in  the  Palazzo  Borghese.  Domenicchino's  picture  was  in  the 
Vatican.  The  portraits  of  Caesar  Borgia  and  Sixtus  V.  were  not  by  Raphael. 
The  latter  was  not  made  Pope  until  sixty-five  years  after  the  death  of  the 
celebrated  painter. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  233 

historical  interest.  Quite  close  by  are  the  Colosseum  and 
the  ruined  Palace  of  Constantine.1  It  is  all  so  grand, 
so  beautiful,  so  rare !  I  am  very  glad  to  have  left  Rome 
under  this  ineffaceable  impression.  I  wanted  to  write 
to  you  in  the  evening,  but  after  packing  I  was  too  tired  to 
move  a  finger. 

"At  six  o'clock  this  morning  we  arrived  in  Venice. 
Although  I  had  not  been  able  to  close  my  eyes  all  night, 
and  although  it  was  still  quite  dark  and  cold  when  we  got 
here,  I  was  charmed  with  the  characteristic  beauty  of  the 
place.  We  are  staying  at  the  Grand  Hotel.  In  front 
of  our  windows  is  S.  Maria  della  Salute,  a  graceful,  pretty 
building  on  the  Canale  Grande." 

ToN.F.  Von  Meek. 
"VENICE,  November  i6th  (28^),  1877. 

"...  I  have  received  a  very  comforting  letter  from  my 
sister,  and  am  busy  with  the  orchestration  of  the  first  scene 
of  the  second  act  of  my  Oniegin. 

"  Venice  is  a  fascinating  city.  Every  day  I  discover 
some  fresh  beauty.  Yesterday  we  went  to  the  Church 
of  the  Frati,  in  which,  among  other  art  treasures,  is  the 
tomb  of  Canova.  It  is  a  marvel  of  beauty !  But  what 
delights  me  most  is  the  absolute  quiet  and  absence  of  all 
street  noises.  To  sit  at  the  open  window  in  the  moonlight 
and  gaze  upon  S.  Maria  della  Salute,  or  over  to  the 
Lagoons  on  the  left,  is  simply  glorious !  It  is  very  plea- 
sant also  to  sit  in  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco  (near  the  Cafe) 
in  the  afternoon  and  watch  the  stream  of  people  go  by. 
The  little  corridor-like  streets  please  me,  too,  especially  in 
the  evening  when  the  windows  are  lit  up.  In  short,  Venice 
has  bewitched  me.  To-day  I  have  been  considering 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  stay  here  than  at  Clarens 
— Clarens  is  quiet,  cheap,  and  nice,  but  often  dull ;  here 
nature  is  less  beautiful,  but  there  is  more  life  and  move- 
ment, and  this  is  not  of  the  kind  that  bewilders  and  con- 
fuses me.  .  .  .  To-morrow  I  will  look  for  a  furnished 
apartment.  If  I  succeed  in  finding  one — I  shall  be  just 
as  undecided  as  before." 

1  The  Basilica. 


234  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VENICE,  November  \%th  (30^),  1877. 

"...  The  few  days  spent  here  have  done  me  a  great 
deal  of  good.  First,  I  have  been  able  to  work  a  little, 
so  that  my  brother  will  take  the  second  scene  of  the  opera 
— not  quite  finished — back  to  Moscow  with  him.  Secondly, 
I  feel  much  better,  although  I  was  not  very  well  yesterday. 
It  is  only  a  slight  chill,  however.  Thirdly,  I  am  quite 
in  love  with  my  beautiful  Venice,  and  have  decided  to 
come  back  here  after  parting  from  my  brother  in  Vienna. 
Do  not  laugh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  at  my  uncertainty  and 
vacillation.  This  time  my  decision  is  irrevocable.  I  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  take  a  very  nice  apartment  in  the  Riva 
dei  Chiavoni. 

"  To-morrow  I  go  to  Vienna.  On  my  return  I  will 
begin  to  work  at  the  Symphony — our  Symphony. 

"  Do  you  know  what  enrages  me  in  Venice  ? — The  ven- 
dors of  the  evening  papers.  If  I  go  for  a  walk  across  the 
Piazza  di  San  Marco  I  hear  on  every  side,  '//  Tempo  !  La 
Gazzetta  di  Venezia  !  Vittoria  dei  Turchi ! '  This  '  Vit- 
toria  dei  Turchi '  is  shouted  every  evening.  Why  do  they 
never  cry  one  of  our  actual  victories  ?  Why  do  they  try 
to  attract  customers  by  fictitious  Turkish  successes  ?  Can 
it  be  that  peaceful,  beautiful  Venice,  who  once  lost  her 
strength  in  fighting  these  same  Turks,  is  as  full  of  hatred 
for  Russia  as  all  the  rest  of  Western  Europe  ? 

"  Beside  myself  with  indignation,  I  asked  one  of  them, 
'  Ma  dove  la  vittoria?'  It  turned  out  that  a  Turkish 
victory  was  really  a  reconnaissance,  in  which  the  Russians 
had  had  about  one  hundred  casualties.  '  Is  that  a  victory  ? ' 
I  asked  him  angrily.  I  could  not  understand  his  reply, 
but  he  cried  no  more  '  victories.'  One  must  acknowledge 
the  amiability,  politeness,  and  obligingness  of  the  Italians. 
These  qualities  of  theirs  strike  one  very  forcibly  when  one 
comes  direct  from  Switzerland,  where  the  people  are 
gloomy,  unfriendly,  and  disinclined  for  a  joke.  To-day, 
when  I  met  the  same  vendor  of  papers,  he  greeted  me 
civilly,  and  instead  of  calling  out,  *  Grande  vittoria  dei 
Turchi ' — with  which  words  the  others  were  recommending 
their  wares — he  began  to  cry,  '  Gran  combattimento  a 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  235 

Plevna,  vittoria  dei  Russi ! '  I  knew  he  lied,  but  it  pleased 
me  all  the  same,  since  it  expressed  the  innate  courtesy  of 
a  poor  man. 

"  When  will  it  end,  this  terrible  war,  in  which  such  unim- 
portant results  have  to  be  won  at  such  vast  sacrifices  ? 
And  yet  it  must  be  fought  out  to  the  end,  until  the  enemy 
is  utterly  vanquished.  This  war  cannot  and  must  not 
be  settled  by  compromises  and  side  issues.  One  or  the 
other  must  give  in.  But  how  disgraceful  it  seems  to  speak 
of  such  a  life-and-death  struggle  while  sitting  in  a  bright, 
comfortable,  well-lit  room,  knowing  neither  hunger  nor 
thirst,  and  well  protected  from  bad  weather  and  all  other 
physical  deprivations  and  discomforts  !  From  moral  and 
spiritual  troubles  we  are  none  of  us  safe.  As  to  my  own, 
I  know  one  remedy  and  alleviation — my  work.  But  our 
strength  is  not  always  equal  to  our  work.  Oh,  my  God,  if 
I  could  only  find  strength  and  gladness  of  heart  for  new 
works  !  Just  now  I  can  only  go  on  patching  up  the  old 
ones." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VIENNA,  November  zoth  (December  2nd),  1877. 

"...  Yesterday  evening  found  us  in  Vienna.  The 
journey  across  the  Semmering  left  a  fascinating  im- 
pression. The  weather  was  fine.  On  the  journey  I  read 
and  re-read  your  letter,  my  dear  friend. 

"...  Now  it  is  evident  that  theoretically  you  have 
separated  yourself  from  the  Church  and  from  dogmatic 
belief.  I  perceive  that  after  years  of  thought  you  have 
framed  for  yourself  a  kind  of  religio-philosophic  catechism. 
But  it  strikes  me  you  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
parallel  with  the  bulwarks  of  the  old,  strong  faith  which 
you  have  overthrown,  you  have  raised  new  ones,  so  sure 
and  reliable  that  you  can  afford  to  do  away  entirely  with 
the  old  lines  of  defence.  Herein  lies  precisely  the  sceptic's 
tragedy :  once  he  has  broken  the  ties  which  bind  him  to 
traditional  belief,  he  passes  from  one  set  of  philosophical 
speculations  to  another,  always  imagining  he  will  discover 
that  inexhaustible  source  of  strength,  so  needful  for  the 
battle  of  life,  with  which  the  believer  is  fully  equipped. 
You  may  say  what  you  please,  but  a  faith — not  that  which 


236  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

proceeds  from  mere  deficiency  of  reasoning  power  and 
is  simply  a  matter  of  routine — but  a  faith  founded  on 
reason  and  able  to  reconcile  all  misconceptions  and  con- 
tradictions arising  from  intellectual  criticism — such  a  belief 
is  the  supreme  happiness.  A  man  who  has  both  intellect 
and  faith  (and  there  are  many  such)  is  clad,  as  it  were,  in 
a  panoply  of  armour  which  can  resist  all  the  blows  of  fate. 
You  say  you  have  fallen  away  from  the  accepted  forms 
of  religion  and  have  made  a  creed  for  yourself.  But 
religion  is  an  element  of  reconciliation.  Have  you  this 
sense  of  being  reconciled  ?  I  think  not.  For  if  you  had, 
you  would  never  have  written  that  letter  from  Como.  Do 
you  remember?  That  yearning,  that  discontent,  that 
aspiration  towards  some  vague  ideal,  that  isolation  from 
humanity,  the  confession  that  only  in  music — the 
most  ideal  of  all  the  arts — could  you  find  any  solution 
of  these  agitating  questions,  all  proved  to  me  that  your 
self-made  religion  did  not  give  that  absolute  peace  of 
mind  which  is  peculiar  to  those  who  have  found  in  their 
faith  a  ready-made  answer  to  all  those  doubts  which 
torment  a  reflective  and  sensitive  nature.  And,  do  you 
know — it  seems  to  me  you  only  care  so  much  for  my 
music  because  I  am  as  full  of  the  ideal  longing  as  yourself. 
Our  sufferings  are  the  same.  Your  doubts  are  as  strong 
as  mine.  We  are  both  adrift  in  that  limitless  sea  of 
scepticism,  seeking  a  haven  and  finding  none. 

"Are  not  these  the  reasons  why  my  music  touches  you 
so  closely  ?  I  also  think  you  are  mistaken  in  calling  your- 
self a  realist.  If  we  define  '  realism '  as  contempt  for  all 
that  is  false  and  insincere — in  life  as  in  art — you  are  un- 
doubtedly a  'realist.'  But  when  we  consider  that  a  true 
realist  would  never  dream  of  seeking  consolation  in  music, 
as  you  do,  it  is  evident  you  are  far  more  of  an  idealist. 
You  are  only  a  realist  in  the  sense  that  you  do  not  care  to 
waste  time  over  sentimental,  trivial,  and  aimless  dreams, 
like  so  many  women.  You  do  not  care  for  phrases  and 
empty  words,  but  that  does  not  mean  you  are  a  realist. 
Impossible !  Realism  argues  a  certain  limited  outlook, 
a  thirst  for  truth  which  is  too  quickly  and  easily  satisfied. 
A  realist  does  not  actually  feel  eager  to  comprehend  the 
essential  problems  of  existence ;  he  even  denies  the  need 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  237 

of  seeking  truth,  and  does  not  believe  in  those  who  are 
searching  for  reconcilement  and  religion,  philosophy,  or 
art.  Art — especially  music — counts  for  nothing  with  the 
realist,  because  it  is  the  answer  to  a  question  which  his 
narrow  intellect  is  incapable  of  posing.  For  these  reasons 
I  think  you  are  wrong  in  declaring  you  have  enrolled 
under  the  banner  of  realism.  You  say  music  only  pro- 
duces in  you  a  pleasant,  purely  physical,  sensation.  Against 
this  I  distinctly  protest.  You  are  deceiving  yourself.  Do 
you  really  only  care  for  music  in  the  same  way  that  I  enjoy 
a  bottle  of  wine  or  a  pickled  gherkin?  Nay,  you  love 
music  as  it  should  be  loved  :  that  is  to  say,  you  give  your- 
self up  to  it  with  all  your  soul  and  let  it  exercise  its  magic 
spell  all  unconsciously  upon  your  spirit. 

"  Perhaps  it  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  doubt  your 
self-knowledge.  But,  to  my  mind,  you  are,  first  of  all, 
a  very  good  woman,  and  have  been  so  from  your  birth  up. 
You  honour  what  is  good  because  the  aspiration  towards 
the  right,  as  well  as  the  hatred  of  lies  and  evil,  is  innate 
in  you.  You  are  clever,  and  consequently  sceptical.  An 
intelligent  man  cannot  help  being  a  sceptic;  at  least  he 
must  at  some  period  of  his  life  experience  the  most  agonis- 
ing scepticism.  When  your  innate  scepticism  led  you  to 
the  negation  of  tradition  and  dogma  you  naturally  began 
to  seek  some  way  of  escape  from  your  doubts.  You  found 
it  partly  in  the  pantheistic  point  of  view,  and  partly  in 
music ;  but  you  discovered  no  perfect  reconcilement  with 
faith.  Hating  all  evil  and  falsehood,  you  enclose  yourself 
in  your  narrow  family  circle  in  order  to  shut  out  the 
consciousness  of  human  wickedness.  You  have  done  much 
good,  because,  like  your  innate  love  of  nature  and  art,  this 
doing  good  is  an  invincible  craving  of  your  soul.  You 
help  others,  not  in  order  to  purchase  that  eternal  happiness 
which  you  neither  quite  believe  in  nor  quite  deny,  but 
because  you  are  so  made  that  you  cannot  help  doing  good." 

To  N.  F.  Von  Meek. 
"VIENNA,  November  2yd  (December  5//£),  1877. 

"  The  continuation  of  my  letter  : — 

"  My  feeling  about  the  Church  is  quite  different  to  yours. 


238  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

For  me  it  still  possesses  much  poetical  charm.  I  very 
often  attend  the  services.  I  consider  the  liturgy  of  St. 
John  Chrysostom  one  of  the  greatest  productions  of  art. 
If  we  follow  the  service  very  carefully,  and  enter  into  the 
meaning  of  every  ceremony,  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  pro- 
foundly moved  by  the  liturgy  of  our  own  Orthodox  Church. 
I  also  love  vespers.  To  stand  on  a  Saturday  evening  in 
the  twilight  in  some  little  old  country  church,  filled  with 
the  smoke  of  incense  ;  to  lose  oneself  in  the  eternal  ques- 
tions, ivhence,  why,  and  whither ;  to  be  startled  from  one's 
trance  by  a  burst  from  the  choir ;  to  be  carried  away  by 
the  poetry  of  this  music ;  to  be  thrilled  with  quiet  rapture 
when  the  Golden  Gates  of  the  Iconostasis  are  flung  open 
and  the  words  ring  out,  '  Praise  the  name  of  the  Lord ! ' 
— all  this  is  infinitely  precious  to  me  !  One  of  my  deepest 
joys! 

"  Thus,  from  one  point  of  view,  I  am  firmly  united  to 
our  Church.  From  other  standpoints  I  have — like  yourself 
— long  since  lost  faith  in  dogma.  The  doctrine  of  retribu- 
tion, for  instance,  seems  to  me  monstrous  in  its  injustice 
and  unreason.  Like  you,  I  am  convinced  that  if  there  is 
a  future  life  at  all,  it  is  only  conceivable  in  the  sense  of  the 
indestructibility  of  matter,  in  the  pantheistic  view  of  the 
eternity  of  nature,  of  which  I  am  only  a  microscopic  atom. 
I  cannot  believe  in  a  personal,  individual  immortality. 

"  How  shall  we  picture  to  ourselves  eternal  life  after 
death?  As  endless  bliss?  But  such  endless  joy  is  incon- 
ceivable apart  from  its  opposite — eternal  pain.  I  entirely 
refuse  to  believe  in  the  latter.  Finally,  I  am  not  sure  that 
life  beyond  death  is  desirable,  for  it  would  lose  its  charm 
but  for  its  alternations  of  joy  and  sorrow,  its  struggle 
between  good  and  evil,  darkness  and  light.  How  can  we 
contemplate  immortality  as  a  state  of  eternal  bliss  ?  Ac- 
cording to  our  earthly  conceptions,  even  bliss  itself  becomes 
wearisome  if  it  is  never  broken  or  interrupted.  So  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion,  as  the  result  of  much  thinking, 
that  there  is  no  future  life.  But  conviction  is  one  thing, 
and  feeling  and  instinct  another.  This  denial  of  immor- 
tality brings  me  face  to  face  with  the  terrible  thought  that 
I  shall  never,  never,  again  set  eyes  upon  some  of  my  dear 
dead.  In  spite  of  the  strength  of  my  convictions,  I  shall 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  239 

never  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  that  my  dear  mother, 
whom  I  loved  so  much,  actually  is  not ;  that  I  shall  never 
have  any  chance  of  telling  her  how,  after  twenty-three 
years  of  separation,  she  is  as  dear  to  me  as  ever. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  made  up  of  contradictions, 
and  I  have  reached  a  very  mature  age  without  resting  upon 
anything  positive,  without  having  calmed  my  restless  spirit 
either  by  religion  or  philosophy.  Undoubtedly  I  should 
have  gone  mad  but  for  music.  Music  is  indeed  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  Heaven's  gifts  to  humanity  wandering  in 
the  darkness.  Alone  it  calms,  enlightens,  and  stills  our 
souls.  It  is  not  the  straw  to  which  the  drowning  man 
clings ;  but  a  true  friend,  refuge,  and  comforter,  for  whose 
sake  life  is  worth  living.  Perhaps  there  will  be  no  music 
in  heaven.  Well,  let  us  give  our  mortal  life  to  it  as  long 
as  it  lasts." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VIENNA,  November  26th  (December  8//£),  1877. 

"  I  am  still  in  Vienna.  Yesterday  I  heard  that  my 
servant  would  leave  Moscow  on  Saturday.  Although  I 
have  given  him  the  most  minute  instructions  what  to  do 
on  the  journey,  I  have  no  idea  how  he  will  cross  the  frontier, 
not  knowing  a  single  word  of  any  foreign  language.  I 
fancy  there  will  be  many  tragic-comic  episodes.  Some- 
times I  think  it  is  not  very  wise  to  have  a  Russian  servant. 
And  yet — I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done,  since 
I  cannot  endure  complete  solitude.  Besides  which  I  know 
it  will  be  a  comfort  to  my  brother  to  feel  I  am  not  quite 
alone.  I  have  seen  Wagner's  Walkiire.  The  performance 
was  excellent.  The  orchestra  surpassed  itself;  the  best 
singers  did  all  within  their  powers — and  yet  it  was  wearisome. 
What  a  Don  Quixote  is  Wagner!  He  expends  his  whole 
force  in  pursuing  the  impossible,  and  all  the  time,  if  he 
would  but  follow  the  natural  bent  of  his  extraordinary  gift, 
he  might  evoke  a  whole  world  of  musical  beauties.  In  my 
opinion  Wagner  is  a  symphonist  by  nature.  He  is  gifted 
with  genius  which  has  wrecked  itself  upon  his  tendencies ; 
his  inspiration  is  paralysed  by  theories  which  he  has  in- 
vented on  his  own  account,  and  which,  nolens  volens,  he 
wants  to  bring  into  practice.  In  his  efforts  to  attain  reality, 


240  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

truth,  and  rationalism  he  lets  music  slip  quite  out  of  sight, 
so  that  in  his  four  latest  operas  it  is,  more  often  than  not, 
conspicuous  by  its  absence.  I  cannot  call  that  music 
which  consists  of  kaleidoscopic,  shifting  phrases,  which 
succeed  each  other  without  a  break  and  never  come  to 
a  close,  that  is  to  say,  never  give  the  ear  the  least  chance 
to  rest  upon  musical  form.  Not  a  single  broad,  rounded 
melody,  nor  yet  one  moment  of  repose  for  the  singer ! 
The  latter  must  always  pursue  the  orchestra,  and  be  care- 
ful never  to  lose  his  note,  which  has  no  more  importance 
in  the  score  than  some  note  for  the  fourth  horn.  But  there 
is  no  doubt  Wagner  is  a  wonderful  symphonist.  I  will  just 
prove  to  you  by  one  example  how  far  the  symphonic  pre- 
vails over  the  operatic  style  in  his  operas.  You  have 
probably  heard  his  celebrated  Walkiirenritt?  What  a 
grqat  and  marvellous  picture !  How  we  actually  seem  to 
see  these  fierce  heroines  flying  on  their  magic  steeds  amid 
thunder  and  lightning !  In  the  concert-room  this  piece 
makes  an  extraordinary  impression.  On  the  stage,  in  view 
of  the  cardboard  rocks,  the  canvas  clouds,  and  the  soldiers 
who  run  about  very  awkwardly  in  the  background — in 
a  word,  seen  in  this  very  inadequate  theatrical  heaven, 
which  makes  a  poor  pretence  of  realising  the  illimitable 
realms  above,  the  music  loses  all  its  powers  of  expression. 
Here  the  stage  does  not  enhance  the  effect,  but  acts  rather 
like  a  wet  blanket.  Finally  I  cannot  understand,  and 
never  shall,  why  the  Nibelungen  should  be  considered  a 
literary  masterpiece.  As  a  national  saga — perhaps,  but  as 
a  libretto — distinctly  not ! 

"  Wotan,  Briinnhilda,  Fricka,  and  the  rest  are  all  so 
impossible,  so  little  human,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  feel 
any  sympathy  with  their  destinies.  And  how  little  life ! 
For  three  whole  hours  Wotan  lectures  Briinnhilda  upon 
her  disobedience.  How  wearisome  !  And  with  it  all,  there 
are  many  fine  and  beautiful  episodes  of  a  purely  sym- 
phonic description. 

"Yesterday  Kotek1  and  I  looked  through  a  new  sym- 
phony by  Brahms  (No.  I  in  C  minor),  a  composer  whom 
the  Germans  exalt  to  the  skies.  He  has  no  charms  for  me. 

1  Kotek,  who  was  then  studying  with  Joachim  in  Berlin,  joined  Tchaikovsky 
for  a  few  days  in  Vienna. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  241 

I  find  him  cold  and  obscure,  full  of  pretensions,  but  with- 
out any  real  depths.  Altogether  it  seems  to  me  Germany 
is  deteriorating  as  regards  music.  I  believe  the  French  are 
now  coming  to  the  front.  Lately  I  have  heard  DeUibes' 
very  clever  music — in  its  own  style — to  the  ballet  Sylvia. 
I  became  acquainted  with  this  music  in  the  pianoforte 
arrangement  some  time  ago,  but  the  splendid  performance 
of  it  by  the  Vienna  orchestra  quite  fascinated  me,  especially 
the  first  part.  The  Swan  Lake  is  poor  stuff  compared  to 
Sylvia.  Nothing  during  the  last  few  years  has  charmed 
me  so  greatly  as  this  ballet  of  Delibes  and  Carmen? 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VIENNA,  November  27^  (December  yth\  1877. 

"  Kotek  and  my  brother  have  gone  to  the  Philharmonic 
concert,  at  which  my  favourite  Third  Symphony  of  Schu- 
mann is  being  played.  I  preferred  to  remain  at  home 
alone.  I  was  afraid  I  might  meet  some  of  the  local 
musicians  with  whom  I  am  acquainted.  If  only  I  came 
across  one,  by  to-morrow  I  should  have  to  call  on  at*  least 
ten  musical  '  lions,'  make  their  acquaintance,  and  express 
my  gratitude  for  their  favours.  (Last  year,  without  any 
initiative  on  my  part,  my  overture  Romeo  and  Juliet  was 
performed  here  and  unanimously  hissed.)  No  doubt  I 
should  do  much  towards  making  my  works  known  abroad 
if  I  went  the  round  of  the  influential  people,  paying  visits 
and  compliments.  But,  Lord,  how  I  hate  that  kind  of 
thing!  If  you  could  only  hear  the  offensively  patronising 
tone  in  which  they  speak  of  Russian  music !  One  reads 
in  their  faces :  '  Although  you  are  a  Russian,  my  con- 
descension is  such  that  I  honour  you  with  my  attention." 
God  be  with  them !  Last  year  I  met  Liszt.  He  was 
sickeningly  polite,  but  all  the  while  there  was  a  smile  on 
his  lips  which  expressed  the  above  words  pretty  plainly. 
At  the  present  moment,  as  you  will  understand,  I  am 
less  than  ever  in  the  mood  to  be  civil  to  these  gentle- 
men." 


242  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VIENNA,  November  2<)th  (December  io/$),  1877. 

"  My  brother  only  left  at  a  quarter  to  eleven.  I  will  not 
go  into  my  feelings  ;  you  know  what  they  are.  My  servant 
arrived  yesterday  at  five  o'clock.  I  was  quite  wrong  in 
supposing  he  would  encounter  any  serious  difficulties  on 
account  of  his  ignorance  of  the  language ;  and  equally 
wrong  as  to  his  first  impressions  of  foreign  lands.  He  is, 
like  all  Russian  peasants,  as  plucky  as  he  is  quick-witted, 
and  knows  how  to  get  out  of  the  most  difficult  situations ; 
consequently  he  crossed  the  frontier  as  easily  as  though  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  making  the  journey  frequently. 
As  to  his  impressions,  he  thinks  the  houses  in  Vienna  far 
inferior  to  those  in  Moscow,  and  Moscow  altogether  in- 
comparably more  beautiful.  The  news  of  the  capture  of 
Plevna  has  made  the  separation  from  my  brother  more 
bearable.  When  the  waiter  brought  my  early  coffee 
yesterday,  with  the  announcement,  *  Plevna  has  fallen/  I 
nearly  embraced  him  !  It  seems  from  the  papers  as  though 
Austria  was  not  best  pleased,  and  was  rather  aggrieved  at 
the  capitulation  of  the  flower  of  the  Turkish  army." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"VENICE,  December  $rd  (15^),  1877. 

"...  There  is  one  thing  in  your  letter  with  which  I 
cannot  agree  in  the  least — your  view  of  music.  I  particu- 
larly dislike  the  way  in  which  you  compare  music  with  a 
form  of  intoxication.  I  think  this  is  quite  wrong.  A  man 
has  recourse  to  wine  in  order  to  stupefy  himself  and  pro- 
duce an  illusion  of  well-being  and  happiness.  But  this 
dream  costs  him  very  dear !  The  reaction  is  generally 
terrible.  But  in  any  case  wine  can  only  bring  a 
momentary  oblivion  of  all  our  troubles — no  more.  Has 
music  a  similar  effect?  Music  is  no  illusion,  but  rather  a 
revelation.  Its  triumphant  power  lies  in  the  fact  that  it 
reveals  to  us  beauties  we  find  in  no  other  sphere ;  and  the 
apprehension  of  them  is  not  transitory,  but  a  perpetual 
reconcilement  to  life.  Music  enlightens  and  delights  us.  It 
is  extremely  difficult  to  analyse  and  define  the  process  of 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  243 

musical  enjoyment,  but  it  has  nothing  in  common  with  in- 
toxication. It  is  certainly  not  a  physiological  phenomenon. 
Of  course  the  nerves — therefore  to  some  extent  our  physical 
organs — take  part  in  our  musical  impressions  and,  in  this 
sense,  music  gives  physical  delight :  but  you  must  own  it  is 
exceedingly  difficult  to  draw  a  hard-and-fast  line  between 
the  physical  and  psychical  functions ;  for  instance,  thought 
is  a  physiological  process  in  so  far  as  it  pertains  to  the 
functions  of  the  brain.  But  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
this  is  only  a  matter  of  words.  If  we  both  look  upon  the 
enjoyment  of  music  from  opposite  points  of  view,  at  least 
one  thing  is  certain  :  our  love  of  it  is  equally  strong,  and 
that  is  sufficient  for  me.  I  am  glad  you  apply  the  word 
divine  to  the  art  to  which  I  have  dedicated  my  life. 

"  In  your  philosophy  I  altogether  approve  your  views  of 
good  and  evil.  These  views  are  perhaps  rather  fatalistic, 
but  full  of  Christian  charity  towards  your  weak  and  sinful 
fellow-creatures.  You  are  quite  right  in  saying  that  it  is 
foolish  to  expect  wisdom  and  virtue  from  a  person  not 
endowed  with  these  qualities.  Here  again  I  hit  upon  the 
obvious  difference  between  your  personality  and  mine ;  I 
have  always  compelled  myself  to  regard  the  evil  in  man's 
nature  as  the  inevitable  negation  of  good.  Taking  this 
point  of  view  (which  originates,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  with 
Spinoza),  I  ought  never  to  feel  anger  or  hatred.  Actually, 
however,  no  moment  passes  in  which  I  am  not  prepared  to 
lose  my  temper,  to  hate  and  despise  my  fellow-creatures, 
just  as  though  I  was  not  aware  that  each  person  acts 
according  to  the  decree  of  fate.  I  know  that  you  are  a 
stranger  to  the  least  feeling  of  spite  or  contempt.  You 
elude  the  blows  aimed  at  you  by  others,  and  never 
retaliate.  In  short,  you  carry  your  philosophy  into  your 
workaday  life.  I  am  different ;  I  think  one  thing  and  do 
another. 

"  I  will  just  give  you  an  instance.  I  have  a  friend 
called  Kondratiev ;  he  is  a  very  nice,  pleasant  fellow, 
with  only  one  fault — egotism.  But  he  can  cloak  this 
failing  under  such  charming,  gentlemanly  disguises  that 
it  is  impossible  to  be  angry  with  him  for  long.  In 
September,  when  I  was  passing  through  the  climax  of  my 
suffering  in  Moscow,  and  was  looking  about  in  a  paroxysm 


244  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  depression  for  someone  to  come  to  my  aid,  Kondratiev 
— who  was  then  living  on  his  property  in  the  Government 
of  Kharkov — chanced  to  write  to  me  one  of  his  usual 
kindly  letters,  assuring  me  of  his  friendship.  I  did  not 
want  to  reveal  my  state  to  my  brothers  at  that  time,  for  fear 
of  making  them  unhappy.  My  cup  of  misery  was  over- 
flowing. I  wrote  to  Kondratiev,  telling  him  of  my  terrible 
and  hopeless  condition.  The  meaning  of  my  letter,  ex- 
pressed between  the  lines,  was :  '  I  am  going  under,  save 
me  !  Rescue  me,  but  be  quick  about  it ! '  I  felt  sure  that 
he,  a  well-to-do  and  independent  man,  who  was — as  he 
himself  declared — ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  friend- 
ship's sake,  would  immediately  come  to  my  assistance. 
Afterwards  you  know  what  happened.  Not  until  I  was  in 
Clarens  did  I  receive  the  answer  to  my  letter,  which  had 
reached  Moscow  a  week  after  my  flight  from  thence.  In 
this  reply  Kondratiev  said  he  was  sorry  for  my  plight,  and 
concluded  with  the  following  words  :  '  Pray,  dear  friend, 
pray.  God  will  show  you  how  to  overcome  your  sad  con- 
dition.' A  cheap  and  simple  way  of  getting  out  of  the 
difficulty !  To-night  I  have  been  reading  the  third  volume 
of  Thackeray's  splendid  novel  Pendennis.  '  The  Major '  is 
a  living  type,  who  frequently  reminds  me  of  Kondratiev. 
One  episode  recalled  my  friend  so  vividly  that  I  sprang 
out  of  bed,  then  and  there,  and  wrote  him  in  terms  of 
mockery  which  disclosed  all  my  temper.  When  I  read  your 
letter  I  felt  ashamed.  I  wrote  to  him  again,  and  asked 
pardon  for  my  unreasonable  anger.  See  what  a  good 
influence  you  have  on  me,  dear  friend !  You  are  my 
Providence  and  my  comforter  ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"VENICE,  December  qth  (au/),  1877. 

"  I  am  working  diligently  at  the  orchestration  of  our 
Symphony,  and  am  quite  absorbed  in  the  task. 

"  None  of  my  earlier  works  for  orchestra  have  given  me 
such  trouble  as  this ;  but  on  none  have  I  expended  such 
love  and  devotion.  I  experienced  a  pleasant  surprise 
when  I  began  to  work  at  it  again.  At  first  I  was  only 
actuated  by  a  desire  to  bring  the  unfinished  Symphony  to 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  245 

an  end,  no  matter  what  it  cost  me.  Gradually,  however,  I 
fell  more  and  more  under  the  spell  of  the  work,  and  now 
I  can  hardly  tear  myself  away  from  it. 

"  Dear  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  I  may  be  making  a 
mistake,  but  it  seems  to  me  this  Symphony  is  not  a 
mediocre  work,  but  the  best  I  have  done  so  far.  How 
glad  I  am  that  it  is  ours,  and  that,  hearing  it,  you  will 
know  how  much  I  thought  of  you  with  every  bar.  Would 
it  ever  have  been  finished  but  for  you  ?  When  I  was  still 
in  Moscow  and  believed  my  end  to  be  imminent,  I  made 
the  following  note  upon  the  first  sketch,  which  I  had  quite 
forgotten  until  I  came  upon  it  just  now :  '  In  case  of  my 
death  I  desire  this  book  to  be  given  to  N.  F.  von  Meek.' 
I  wanted  you  to  keep  the  manuscript  of  my  last  composi- 
tion. Now  I  am  not  only  well,  but  have  to  thank  you  for 
placing  me  in  such  a  position  that  I  can  devote  myself 
entirely  to  my  work,  and  I  believe  a  composition  is  taking 
form  under  my  pen  which  will  not  be  destined  to  oblivion. 
I  may  be  wrong,  however ;  all  artists  are  alike  in  their 
enthusiasm  for  their  latest  work.  In  any  case,  I  am  in 
good  heart  now,  thanks  to  the  interest  of  the  Symphony. 
I  am  even  indifferent  to  the  various  petty  annoyances 
inflicted  upon  me  by  the  hotel-keeper.  It  is  a  wretched 
hotel ;  but  I  do  not  want  to  leave  until  the  question  of  my 
brother's  coming  is  decided." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"VENICE,  December  \zth  (24^),  1877. 

"  To-day  I  have  received  the  pleasant  news  that  Modeste 
and  his  nice  pupil  are  coming  to  join  me.  The  boy's 
father  (Konradi)  has  only  consented  to  this  arrangement 
on  condition  that  I  will  go  to  some  place  where  the 
climate  is  suitable  for  his  son.  He  suggests  San  Remo, 
where  there  are  plenty  of  comfortable  hotels  and  pensions. 
...  I  have  had  a  letter  from  my  brother  Anatol,  which 
was  very  comforting.  They  are  just  as  fond  of  me  as  ever 
at  Kamenka ;  I  am  quite  at  rest  on  this  score.  I  had 
a  fancy  that  they  only  pitied  me,  and  this  hurt  me  very 
deeply!  Lately  I  have  begun  to  receive  letters  from 
them.  .  .  .  but  my  brother  has  reassured  me  that  all  the 


246  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

folk  at  Kamenka— -a  group  of  beings  who  are  very,  very 
dear  to  me — have  forgiven  me,  and  understand  I  acted 
blindly,  and  that  my  fault  was  involuntary." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"MILAN,  December  i6th  (28^),  1877. 

"  I  only  arrived  here  at  four  o'clock,  and  after  a  short 
walk  in  the  charming  town  went  to  the  theatre  in  the 
evening.  Unfortunately,  not  to  La  Scala,  which  was  closed 
to-night,  but  to  Dal  Verme,  where  four  years  ago  A  Life 
for  the  Tsar  was  produced.  This  evening  Ruy  Bias,  by 
Marcetti,  was  given.  This  opera  has  made  a  stir  in  Italy 
for  some  years,  so  I  hoped  to  hear  something  interesting. 
It  proved,  however,  to  be  a  dull,  commonplace  imitation 
of  Verdi,  but  lacking  the  strength  and  sincere  warmth 
which  characterise  the  coarse,  but  powerful,  works  of  this 
composer.  The  performance  was  worse  than  mediocre. 
Sometimes  it  awoke  sad  thoughts  in  my  mind.  A  young 
queen  comes  upon  the  stage,  with  whom  everyone  is  in 
love.  The  singer  who  took  this  part  seemed  very  con- 
scientious and  did  her  utmost.  How  far  she  was,  how- 
ever, from  resembling  a  beautiful,  queenly  woman  who 
has  the  gift  of  charming  every  man  she  sets  eyes  upon ! 
And  the  hero,  Ruy  Bias !  He  did  not  sing  so  badly,  but 
instead  of  a  handsome  young  hero,  one  saw — a  lackey. 
Not  the  smallest  illusion !  Then  I  thought  of  my  own 
opera.  Where  shall  I  find  a  Tatiana  such  as  Poushkin 
dreamed  of,  and  such  as  I  have  striven  to  realise  in  music  ? 
Where  is  the  artist  who  can  approach  the  ideal  Oniegin, 
that  cold-hearted  dandy,  impregnated  to  the  marrow  of 
his  bones  with  the  fashionable  notion  of  'good  tone'? 
Where  is  there  a  Lensky,  that  youth  of  eighteen,  with 
the  flowing  locks  and  the  gushing  and  would-be-original 
manners  of  a  poetaster  a  la  Schiller  ?  How  commonplace 
Poushkin's  charming  characters  will  appear  on  the  stage, 
with  all  its  routine,  its  drivelling  traditions,  its  veterans — 
male  and  female — who  undertake  without  a  blush  to  play 
the  parts  of  girl-heroines  and  beardless  youths !  Moral : 
it  is  much  pleasanter  to  write  purely  instrumental  music 
which  involves  fewer  disappointments,  What  agony  I 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  247 

have  had  to  go  through  during  the  performance  of  my 
operas,  more  especially  Vakoula !  What  I  pictured  to 
myself  had  so  little  resemblance  to  what  I  actually  saw 
on  the  stage  of  the  Maryinsky  Theatre !  What  an  Oxane, 
what  a  Vakoula !  You  saw  them  ? 

"  After  the  opera  to-night  there  was  a  very  frivolous 
ballet  with  transformation  scenes,  a  harlequin,  and  all 
manner  of  astonishing  things ;  but  the  music  was  dread- 
fully commonplace.  At  the  same  time  it  amused  while 
the  opera  performance  irritated  me.  Yet  Ruy  Bias  is  an 
excellent  operatic  subject. 

"  From  Venice  I  carried  away  a  charming  little  song. 
I  had  two  pleasant  musical  experiences  while  in  Italy. 
The  first  was  in  Florence.  I  cannot  remember  whether 
I  told  you  about  it  before.  One  evening  Anatol  and  I 
suddenly  heard  someone  singing  in  the  street,  and  saw  a 
crowd  in  which  we  joined.  The  singer  was  a  boy  about 
ten  or  eleven,  who  accompanied  himself  on  a  guitar.  He 
sang  in  a  wonderfully  rich,  full  voice,  with  such  warmth 
and  finish  as  one  rarely  hears,  even  among  accomplished 
artists.  The  intensely  tragic  words  of  the  song  had  a 
strange  charm  coming  from  these  childish  lips.  The 
singer,  like  all  Italians,  showed  an  extraordinary  feeling 
for  rhythm.  This  characteristic  of  the  Italians  interests 
me  very  much,  because  it  is  directly  contrary  to  our  folk- 
songs as  sung  by  the  people." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REMO,  December  20^,  1877  (January  if/,  1878). 

"  I  have  found  an  abode  in  the  Pension  "  Joli " ;  four 
poorly  furnished  rooms  which  form  a  little  separate  flat 
at  a  comparatively  low  rent. 

"  The  situation  of  San  Remo  is  truly  enchanting.  The 
little  town  lies  on  a  hill,  and  is  closely  packed  together. 
The  lower  town  consists  almost  exclusively  of  hotels, 
which  are  all  overcrowded.  San  Remo  has  become  the 
fashion  since  our  Empress  stayed  here.  To-day,  without 
exaggeration,  we  are  having  summer  weather.  The  sun 
was  almost  unbearable,  even  without  an  overcoat.  Every- 
where one  sees  olive  trees,  palms,  oranges,  lemons,  helio- 


248  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

trope,  jasmine — in  short,  it  is  gloriously  beautiful.  And 
yet — shall  I  tell  you  or  not?  When  I  walk  by  the  sea  I 
am  seized  with  a  desire  to  go  home  and  pour  out  all  my 
yearning  and  agitations  in  a  letter  to  you,  or  to  Toly. 
Why?  Why  should  a  simple  Russian  landscape,  a  walk 
through  our  homely  villages  and  woods,  a  tramp  over  the 
fields  and  steppes  at  sunset,  inspire  me  with  such  an 
intense  love  of  nature  that  I  throw  myself  down  on  the 
earth  and  give  myself  up  to  the  enchantment  with  which 
all  these  humble  things  can  fill  me?  Why?  I  only 
observe  the  fact  without  attempting  to  explain  it. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  however,  that  I  continued  my  walk, 
for  had  I  listened  to  my  inner  promptings,  you  would  have 
had  to  endure  another  of  my  jeremiads.  I  know  I  shall 
feel  quite  differently  to-morrow,  especially  when  I  begin 
the  finale  of  my  Symphony ;  but  to-day  ?  I  am  unequal 
to  describing  exactly  what  I  feel,  or  what  I  want.  To 
return  to  Russia — no.  It  would  be  terrible  to  go  back ; 
for  I  know  I  shall  return  a  different  man. 

"  And  here  ? — There  is  no  more  lovely  spot  on  earth  than 
San  Remo,  and  yet  I  assure  you  that  neither  the  palms, 
nor  the  oranges,  nor  the  beautiful  blue  sea,  nor  the  moun- 
tains, make  the  impression  upon  me  which  they  might  be 
expected  to  do.  Consolation,  peace,  well-being  I  can  only 
draw  from  within.  The  success  of  the  Symphony,  the  con- 
sciousness that  I  am  writing  something  good,  will  reconcile 
me  to-morrow  to  all  the  friction  and  worry  of  previous 
days.  The  arrival  of  my  brother  will  be  a  great  joy.  I 
have  a  curious  feeling  towards  nature — at  least  towards 
such  a  luxuriant  nature  as  surrounds  me  here.  It  dazzles 
me,  gets  on  my  nerves,  makes  me  angry.  I  feel  at  such 
moments  as  though  I  were  going  out  of  my  mind.  But 
enough  of  all  this  .  .  .  really  I  am  like  the  old  woman 
whose  fate  Poushkin  describes  in  his  fable  of  'The 
Fisherman  and  the  little  Fish.'  The  greater  reason  I  have 
to  be  happy,  the  more  discontented  I  become.  Since  I  left 
Russia  a  few  dear  souls  have  shown  me  such  proofs  of 
affection  as  would  suffice  to  make  the  happiness  of  a 
hundred  men.  I  see  that  as  compared  to  millions  of 
people  who  are  really  unhappy,  I  should  regard  myself  as 
a  spoilt  child  of  fortune,  and  yet  I  am  not  happy,  not 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  249 

happy,  not  happy.  There  are  moments  of  happiness. 
There  is  also  that  preoccupation  with  my  work  which  often 
possesses  me  so  entirely  that  I  forget  everything  not 
directly  connected  with  my  art.  But  happiness  does  not 
exist  for  me.  However,  here  is  my  jeremiad  after  all ;  it 
seems  to  have  been  inevitable !  And  it  is  ridiculous, 
besides,  being  in  some  sort  indelicate.  But  since  once  for 
all  you  are  my  best  friend,  dear  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  must 
I  not  tell  you  all,  all  that  goes  on  in  my  queer,  morbid 
soul  ?  Forgive  me  this.  To-morrow  I  shall  regret  it ;  to- 
day it  has  been  a  relief  to  grumble  to  you  a  little.  Do  not 
attach  too  much  importance  to  it.  Do  you  know  what  I 
sometimes  feel  on  such  days  as  this?  It  comes  over  me 
suddenly  that  no  one  really  loves  me,  or  can  love  me, 
because  I  am  a  pitiable,  contemptible  being.  And  I  have 
not  strength  to  put  away  such  thoughts  .  .  .  but  there — 
I  am  beginning  my  lamentations  over  again. 

"  I  quite  forgot  to  tell  you,  I  spent  a  day  in  Genoa.  In 
its  way  it  is  a  fine  place.  Do  you  know  Santa  Maria  di 
Carignano,  from  the  tower  of  which  one  gets  such  a 
wonderful  view  over  the  whole  town  ?  Extraordinarily 
picturesque ! " 

Shortly  after  Tchaikovsky  left  Russia  for  this  tour 
abroad,  he  was  asked  to  represent  his  country  as  musical 
delegate  at  the  Paris  Exhibition.  The  part  was  not  suited 
to  his  nervous  and  retiring  nature,  but,  as  the  prospect 
seemed  remote,  he  had  not  given  a  definite  refusal,  and  by 
December  had  almost  entirely  forgotten  the  proposal. 
Then,  to  his  extreme  annoyance,  he  received  a  communica- 
tion from  the  Minister  of  Finance,  nominating  him  to  the 
post  with  a  fee  of  1,000  francs  per  month.  Tchaikovsky 
was  thrown  into  the  greatest  consternation  at  this  news,  as 
we  may  gather  from  the  letters  he  wrote  at  this  time. 

"  How  shall  I  escape  from  this  dilemma  ? "  he  says  to 
Nadejda  von  Meek.  "  I  cannot  prevent  my  brother's 
coming  here,  because  I  have  no  idea  where  he  is  just 
now.  .  .  .  Neither  is  there  time  for  me  to  take  counsel 


250  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

with  my  friends.  Who  knows,  perhaps  it  might  be  good 
for  me  to  come  out  of  my  cell  and  plunge,  against  my  will, 
into  the  stream  of  Paris  life  ?  But  if  only  you  knew  what 
it  would  cost  me !  It  goes  without  saying  that  I  have 
not  been  able  to  do  a  stroke  of  work  to-day.  O  God,  when 
shall  I  eventually  find  peace  ?  " 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 
"SAN  REMO,  December  23^,  1877  (January  tfh\  1878. 

".  .  .  .  The  day  before  yesterday  I  tried  to  imagine  what 
you  would  say  if  you  were  here.  I  believe  you  would 
advise  me  to  go  to  Paris. 

"  But  if  you  saw  my  miserable  face  to-day,  and  could 
watch  me  striding  up  and  down  my  room  like  a  madman, 
you  would  certainly  say — Stay  where  you  are  !  Now  that 
I  have  decided  to  refuse  the  post  I  shall  be  tormented 
with  the  thought  that  you,  Nadejda  von  Meek,  and  the 
others,  will  be  vexed  with  me.  .  .  .  There  is  one  thing 
I  have  hidden  from  you  ;  since  the  day  you  left  I  have 
taken  several  glasses  of  brandy  at  night,  and  during 
the  day  I  drink  a  good  deal.  I  cannot  do  without  it. 

"  I  never  feel  calm  except  when  I  have  taken  a  little  too 
much.  I  have  accustomed  myself  so  much  to  this  secret 
tippling  that  I  feel  a  kind  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  the  bottle 
I  keep  near  me.  I  can  only  write  my  letters  after  a 
nip.  This  is  a  proof  that  I  am  still  out  of  health. 

"  In  Paris  I  should  have  to  be  drinking  from  morning 
till  night  to  be  equal  to  all  the  excitement.  My  hope 
is  in  Modeste.  A  quiet  life  in  a  pleasant  spot  and  plenty 
of  work — that  is  what  I  need.  In  a  word,  for  God's  sake 
do  not  be  angry  with  me  that  I  cannot  go  to  Paris." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REMO,  December,  24^,  1877  (January  $th,  1878). 

"  I  have  just  received  your  letter,  and  must  answer 
it  fully.  The  young  Petersburg  composers  are  very 
gifted,  but  they  are  all  impregnated  with  the  most 
horrible  presumptuousness  and  a  purely  amateur  con- 
viction of  their  superiority  to  all  other  musicians  in  the 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  251 

universe.  The  one  exception,  in  later  days,  has  been 
Rimsky-Korsakov.  He  was  also  an  'auto-dictator'  like 
the  rest,  but  recently  he  has  undergone  a  complete  change. 
By  nature  he  is  very  earnest,  honourable,  and  con- 
scientious. As  a  very  young  man  he  dropped  into  a  set 
which  first  solemnly  assured  him  he  was  a  genius,  and 
then  proceeded  to  convince  him  that  he  had  no  need 
to  study,  that  academies  were  destructive  to  all  inspiration 
and  dried  up  creative  activity.  At  first  he  believed  all 
this.  His  earliest  compositions  bear  the  stamp  of  striking 
ability  and  a  lack  of  theoretical  training.  The  circle  to 
which  he  belonged  was  a  mutual  admiration  society. 
Each  member  was  striving  to  imitate  the  work  of  another, 
after  proclaiming  it  as  something  very  wonderful.  Con- 
sequently the  whole  set  suffered  from  one-sidedness,  lack 
of  individuality  and  mannerisms.  Rimsky-Korsakov  is  the 
only  one  among  them  who  discovered,  five  years  ago,  that 
the  doctrines  preached  by  this  circle  had  no  sound  basis, 
that  their  mockery  of  the  schools  and  the  classical  masters, 
their  denial  of  authority  and  of  the  masterpieces,  was 
nothing  but  ignorance.  I  possess  a  letter  dating  from  that 
time  which  moved  me  very  deeply.  Rimsky-Korsakov 
was  overcome  by  despair  when  he  realised  how  many  un- 
profitable years  he  had  wasted,  and  that  he  was  following 
a  road  which  led  nowhere.  He  began  to  study  with  such 
zeal  that  the  theory  of  the  schools  soon  became  to 
him  an  indispensable  atmosphere.  During  one  summer 
he  achieved  innumerable  exercises  in  counterpoint  and 
sixty-four  fugues,  ten  of  which  he  sent  me  for  inspection. 
From  contempt  for  the  schools,  Rimsky-Korsakov  suddenly 
went  over  to  the  cult  of  musical  technique,  Shortly 
after  this  appeared  his  symphony  and  also  his  quartet. 
Both  works  are  full  of  obscurities  and — as  you  will  justly 
observe — bear  the  stamp  of  dry  pedantry.  At  present 
he  appears  to  be  passing  through  a  crisis,  and  it  is  hard 
to  predict  how  it  will  end.  Either  he  will  turn  out  a  great 
master,  or  be  lost  in  contrapuntal  intricacies. 

"  C.  Cui  is  a  gifted  amateur.  His  music  is  not  original,  but 
graceful  and  elegant ;  it  is  too  coquettish — '  made  up ' — so 
to  speak.  At  first  it  pleases,  but  soon  satiates  us.  That 
is  because  Cui's  speciality  is  not  music,  but  fortification, 


252  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

upon  which  he  has  to  give  a  number  of  lectures  in  the 
various  military  schools  in  St.  Petersburg.  He  himself 
once  told  me  he  could  only  compose  by  picking  out  his 
melodies  and  harmonies  as  he  sat  at  the  piano.  When  he 
hit  upon  some  pretty  idea,  he  worked  it  up  in  every  detail, 
and  this  process  was  very  lengthy,  so  that  his  opera 
Ratcliff,  for  instance,  took  him  ten  years  to  complete. 
But,  as  I  have  said,  we  cannot  deny  that  he  has  talent  of 
a  kind — and  at  least  taste  and  instinct. 

"Borodin — aged  fifty — Professor  of  Chemistry  at  the 
Academy  of  Medicine,  also  possesses  talent,  a  very  great 
talent,  which  however  has  come  to  nothing  for  the  want  of 
teaching,  and  because  blind  fate  has  led  him  into  the 
science  laboratories  instead  of  a  vital  musical  existence. 
He  has  not  as  much  taste  as  Cui,  and  his  technique  is  so 
poor  that  he  cannot  write  a  bar  without  assistance. 

"  With  regard  to  Moussorgsky,  as  you  very  justly  remark, 
he  is  '  used  up.'  His  gifts  are  perhaps  the  most  remark- 
able of  all,  but  his  nature  is  narrow  and  he  has  no  aspira- 
tions towards  self-perfection.  He  has  been  too  easily  led 
away  by  the  absurd  theories  of  his  set  and  the  belief  in 
his  own  genius.  Besides  which  his  nature  is  not  of  the 
finest  quality,  and  he  likes  what  is  coarse,  unpolished,  and 
ugly.  He  is  the  exact  opposite  of  the  distinguished  and 
elegant  Cui. 

"  Moussorgsky  plays  with  his  lack  of  polish — and  even 
seems  proud  of  his  want  of  skill,  writing  just  as  it  comes 
to  him,  believing  blindly  in  the  infallibility  of  his  genius. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  his  very  original  talent  flashes  forth 
now  and  again. 

"Balakirev  is  the  greatest  personality  of  the  entire 
circle.  But  he  relapsed  into  silence  before  he  had  accom- 
plished much.  He  possesses  a  wonderful  talent  which 
various  fatal  hindrances  have  helped  to  extinguish.  After 
having  proclaimed  his  agnosticism  rather  widely,  he 
suddenly  became  '  pious.'  Now  he  spends  all  his  time  in 
church,  fasts,  kisses  the  relics — and  does  very  little  else. 
In  spite  of  his  great  gifts,  he  has  done  a  great  deal  of 
harm.  For  instance,  he  it  was  who  ruined  Korsakov's 
early  career  by  assuring  him  he  had  no  need  to  study. 
He  is  the  inventor  of  all  the  theories  of  this  remarkable 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  253 

circle  which  unites  so  many  undeveloped,  falsely  developed, 
or  prematurely  decayed,  talents. 

"  These  are  my  frank  opinions  upon  these  gentlemen. 
What  a  sad  phenomenon  !  So  many  talents  from  which — 
with  the  exception  of  Rimsky-Korsakov — we  can  scarcely 
dare  to  hope  for  anything  serious.  But  this  is  always  our 
case  in  Russia  :  vast  forces  which  are  impeded  by  the  fatal 
shadow  of  a  Plevna  from  taking  the  open  field  and  fighting 
as  they  should.  But  all  the  same,  these  forces  exist.  Thus 
Moussorgsky,  with  all  his  ugliness,  speaks  a  new  idiom. 
Beautiful  it  may  not  be,  but  it  is  new.  We  may  reason- 
ably hope  that  Russia  will  one  day  produce  a  whole  school 
of  strong  men  who  will  open  up  new  paths  in  art  Our 
roughness  is,  at  any  rate,  better  than  the  poor,  would-be- 
serious  pose  of  a  Brahms.  The  Germans  are  hopelessly 
played  out.  With  us  there  is  always  the  hope  that  the 
moral  Plevna  will  fall,  and  our  strength  will  make  itself 
felt.  So  far,  however,  very  little  has  been  accomplished. 
The  French  have  made  great  progress.  True,  Berlioz  has 
only  just  begun  to  be  appreciated,  ten  years  after  his 
death ;  but  they  have  many  new  talents  and  opponents  of 
routine.  In  France  the  struggle  against  routine  is  a  very 
hard  matter,  for  the  French  are  terribly  conservative  in  art. 
They  were  the  last  nation  to  recognise  Beethoven.  Even 
as  late  as  the  forties  they  considered  him  a  madman  or 
an  eccentric.  The  first  of  French  critics,  Fetis,  bewailed 
the  fact  that  Beethoven  had  committed  so  many  sins 
against  the  laws  of  harmony,  and  obligingly  corrected  these 
mistakes  twenty-five  years  later. 

"  Among  modern  French  composers  Bizet  and  Delibes 
are  my  favourites.  I  do  not  know  the  overture  Patrie, 
about  which  you  wrote  to  me,  but  I  am  very  familiar  with 
Bizet's  opera  Carmen.  The  music  is  not  profound,  but  it 
is  so  fascinating  in  its  simplicity,  so  full  of  vitality,  so 
sincere,  that  I  know  every  note  of  it  from  beginning  to 
end.  I  have  already  told  you  what  I  think  of  Delibes. 
In  their  efforts  towards  progress  the  French  are  not  so 
rash  as  our  younger  men  ;  they  do  not,  like  Borodin  and 
Moussorgsky,  go  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility." 


254  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 


To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"SAN  REMO,  January  ist  (i$th),  1878. 

"  Returning  to  San  Remo,  I  found  a  mass  of  letters  and 
your  telegram.  This  time  I  actually  heard  from  you  the 
first  intelligence  of  Radetzky's  victory.1  Thank  you  for 
the  good  news  and  all  your  wishes.  Whatever  may  chance, 
the  year  before  me  can  bring  nothing  worse  than  the  last. 
At  any  rate  the  present  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired, 
except  for  my  unhappy  disposition,  which  always  exagge- 
rates the  evil  and  does  not  sufficiently  rejoice  in  the  good. 
Among  my  letters  was  one  from  Anatol,  who  writes  a  great 
deal  about  my  wife  and  the  whole  unhappy  affair.  All 
goes  well,  but  directly  I  begin  to  think  over  the  details  of 
a  past  which  is  still  too  recent,  my  misery  returns.  I  have 
also  received  a  letter  from  the  committee  of  the  Russian 
section  of  the  Paris  Exhibition,  which  has  made  me  regret 
my  refusal.  My  conscience  still  pricks  me.  Is  it  not 
foolish  and  egotistical  on  my  part  to  decline  the  office  of 
delegate?  I  write  this  to  you,  because  I  am  now  in  the 
habit  of  telling  you  everything.  .  .  " 

To  N.  G.  Rubinstein. 

"SAN  REMO,  January  ist  (i$tK),  1878. 

"...  From  Albrecht's  telegram,  which  I  found  here  on 
my  return  from  Milan,  I  gather  that  you  are  vexed  with 
me  for  having  declined  to  act  as  delegate.  Dear  friend, 
you  know  me  well ;  could  I  really  have  helped  the  cause 
of  Russian  music  in  Paris?  You  know  how  little  gift  I 
have  for  organising.  Added  to  which  there  is  my  mis- 
anthropical shyness,  which  is  becoming  a  kind  of  incur- 
able malady.  What  would  have  been  the  result  ?  I  should 
only  worry  myself  to  death  with  both  the  French  and  the 
Russian  rabble,  and  nothing  would  be  carried  out.  As 
regards  myself,  or  any  personal  profit  it  might  bring  me, 

1  The  Shipka  Pass. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  255 

it  will  be  sufficient  to  say  that,  without  exaggeration,  I 
would  rather  be  condemned  to  penal  servitude  than  act  as 
delegate  in  Paris.  Were  I  in  a  different  frame  of  mind, 
I  might  agree  that  the  visit  could  be  of  use  to  me ;  but 
not  at  present.  I  am  ill,  mentally  and  physicajly ;  just  now 
I  could  not  live  in  any  situation  in  whicri  FITaa  to  be  busy, 
agitated,  and  conspicuously  before  the  world.  .  .  .  Now 
as  regards  the  symphony  (No.  4)  I  despatched  it  to  you 
from  Milan  on  Thursday.  Possibly  it  may  not  please 
you  at  first  sight,  therefore  I  beg  you  not  to  be  too  hasty 
in  your  judgment,  but  only  to  write  me  your  opinion  after 
you  have  heard  it  performed.  I  hope  you  will  see  your 
way  to  bringing  it  out  at  one  of  the  later  concerts.  It 
seems  to  me  to  be  _my_i>est  work___Of  my  two  recent  pro- 
ductions— the  opera  and  the  symphony — I  give  decided 
preference  to  the  latter.  .  .  .  You  are  the  one  conductor 
in  all  the  world  on  whom  I  can  rely.  The  first  movement 
contains  one  or  two  awkward  and  recurrent  changes  of  time, 
to  which  T~call  your  special  attention.  The  third  move- 
ment  is  to  be  played  pizzicato  \..  the  quicker  the  better,  but 
"I  do  not  quite  know  how  fast  it  is  possible  to  ^\vy  pizzicato? 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  2nd  (itfh),  1878. 

"...  Very  probably  you  are  quite  right  in  saying  that 
my  opera  is  not  effective  for  the  stage.  I  must  tell  you, 
however,  I  do  not  care  a  rap  for  such  effectiveness.  It  has 
long  been  an  established  fact  that  I  have  no  dramatic 
vein,  and  now  I  do  not  trouble  about  it.  If  it  is  really 
not  fit  for  the  stage,  then  it  had  better  not  be  performed  ! 
I  composed  this  opera  because  I  was  moved  to  express  in 
music  all  that  seems  to  cry  out  for  such  expression  in 
Eugene  Oniegin.  I  did  my  best,  working  with  indescrib- 
able pleasure  and  enthusiasm,  and  thought  very  little  of  the 
treatment,  the  effectiveness,  and  all  the  rest.  I  spit  upon 
*  effects  ' !  Besides,  what  are  effects  ?  For  instance,  if 
A'ida  is  effective,  I  can  assure  you  I  would  not  compose 
an  opera  on  a  similar  subject  for  all  the  wealth  of  the 
world ;  for  I  want  to  handle  human  beings,  not  puppets. 
I  would  gladly  compose  an  opera  which  was  completely 


256  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

lacking  in  startling  effects,  but  which  offered  characters 
resembling  my  own,  whose  feelings  and  experiences  I 
shared  and  understood.  The  feelings  of  an  Egyptian 
Princess,  a  Pharaoh,  or  some  mad  Nubian,  I  cannot  enter 
into,  or  comprehend.  Some  instinct,  however,  tells  me 
that  these  people  must  have  felt,  acted,  spoken,  and  ex- 
pressed themselves  quite  differently  from  ourselves.  There- 
fore my  music,  which — entirely  against  my  will — is  im- 
pregnated with  Schumannism,  Wagnerism,  Chopinism, 
Glinkaism,  Berliozism,  and  all  the  other  *  isms '  of  our 
time,  would  be  as  out  of  keeping  with  the  characters  of 
A'ida  as  the  elegant  speeches  of  Racine's  heroes — couched 
in  the  second  person  plural — are  unsuited  to  the  real 
Orestes  or  the  real  Andromache.  Such  music  would  be 
a  falsehood,  and  all  falsehoods  are  abhorrent  to  me.  Besides, 
I  am  reaping  the  fruits  of  my  insufficient  harvest  of  book- 
learning.  Had  I  a  wider  acquaintance  with  the  literatures 
of  other  countries,  I  should  no  doubt  have  discovered  a 
subject  which  was  both  suitable  for  the  stage  and  in 
harmony  with  my  taste.  Unfortunately  I  am  not  able  to 
find  such  things  for  myself,  nor  do  I  know  anyone  who 
could  call  my  attention  to  such  a  subject  as  Bizet's 
Carmen,  for  example,  one  of  the  most  perfect  operas  of 
our  day.  You  will  ask  what  I  actually  require.  I  will  tell 
you.  Above  all  I  want  no  kings,  no  tumultuous  populace, 
no  gods,  no  pompous  marches — in  short,  none  of  those 
things  which  are  the  attributes  of  'grand  opera.'  I  am 
looking  for  an  intimate  yet  thrilling  drama,  based  upon 
such  a  conflict  of  circumstance  as  I  myself  have  ex- 
perienced or  witnessed,  which  is  capable  of  touching  me 
to  the  quick.  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  the  fantastic 
element,  because  it  does  not  restrict  one,  but  rather  offers 
unlimited  freedom.  I  feel  I  am  not  expressing  myself 
very  clearly.  In  a  word,  Ai'da  is  so  remote,  her  love  for 
Radames  touches  me  so  little — since  I  cannot  picture  it  in 
my  mind's  eye — that  my  music  would  lack  the  vital 
warmth  which  is  essential  to  good  work.  Not  long  since 
I  saw  L'Africaine  in  Genoa.  This  unhappy  African,  what 
she  endures !  Slavery,  imprisonment,  death  under  a 
poisoned  tree,  in  her  last  moment  the  sight  of  her  rival's 
triumph — and  yet  I  never  once  pitied  her  !  But  what 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  257 

effects  there  were  :  a  ship,  a  battle,  all  manner  of  dodges ! 
When  all  is  said  and  done,  what  is  the  use  of  these  effects? 
.  .  .  With  regard  to  your  remark  that  Tatiana  does  not 
fall  in  love  with  Oniegin  at  first  sight,  allow  me  to  say — 
you  are  mistaken.  She  falls  in  love  at  once.  She  does 
not  learn  to  know  him  first,  and  then  to  care  for  him. 
Love  comes  suddenly  to  her.  Even  before  Oniegin  comes 
on  the  scene  she  is  in  love  with  the  hero  of  her  vague 
romance.  The  instant  she  sets  eyes  on  Oniegin  she  in- 
vests him  with  all  the  qualities  of  her  ideal,  and  the  love 
she  has  hitherto  bestowed  upon  the  creation  of  her  fancy 
is  now  transferred  to  a  human  being. 

"  The  opera  Oniegin  will  never  have  a  success ;  I  feel 
already  assured  of  that.  I  shall  never  find  singers  capable, 
even  partially,  of  fulfilling  my  requirements.  The  routine 
which  prevails  in  our  theatres,  the  senseless  performances, 
the  system  of  retaining  invalided  artists  and  giving  no 
chance  to  younger  ones :  all  this  stands  in  the  way  of  my 
opera  being  put  on  the  stage.  I  would  much  prefer  to 
confide  it  to  the  theatre  of  the  Conservatoire.  Here,  at 
any  rate,  we  escape  the  commonplace  routine  of  the  opera, 
and  those  fatal  invalids  of  both  sexes.  Besides  which,  the 
performances  at  the  Conservatoire  are  private,  en  petit 
comitJ.  This  is  more  suitable  to  my  modest  work,  which 
I  shall  not  describe  as  an  opera,  if  it  is  published.  I  should 
like  to  call  it  'lyrical  scenes/  or  something  of  that  kind. 
This  opera  has  no  future !  I  was  quite  aware  of  this  when 
I  wrote  it;  nevertheless,  I  completed  it  and  shall  give  it  to 
the  world  if  Jurgenson  is  willing  to  publish  it.  I  shall 
make  no  effort  to  have  it  performed  at  the  Maryinsky 
Theatre  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  should  oppose  the  idea  as  far 
as  possible.  It  is  the  outcome  of  an  invincible  inward 
impulse.  I  assure  you  one  should  only  compose  opera 
under  such  conditions.  It  is  only  necessary  to  think  of 
stage  effects  to  a  certain  extent.  If  my  enthusiasm  for 
Eugene  Oniegin  is  evidence  of  my  limitations,  my  stupidity 
and  ignorance  of  the  requirements  of  the  stage,  I  am  very 
sorry  ;  but  I  can  at  least  affirm  that  the  music  proceeds  in 
the  most  literal  sense  from  my  inmost  being.  It  is  not 
manufactured  and  forced.  But  enough  of  Oniegin. 

"  Now  a  word  as  to  my  latest  work,  the  Fourth  Sym- 


258  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

must  have  reached  Moscow  by  now.     What 


wTTf  you  think  of  it  ?  I  value  your  opinion  highly,  and 
fear  your  criticism.  I  know  you  are  absolutely  sincere, 
that  is  why  I  think  so  much  of  your  judgment.  I  cherish 
one  dream,  one  intense  desire,  which  I  hardly  dare  disclose, 
lest  it  should  seem  selfish.  You  must  write  and  play,  and 
play  and  write,  for  your  own  self,  and  you  ought  not  to  waste 
time  on  arrangements.  There  are  but  two  men  in  Moscow 
—  nay,  in  the  whole  world  —  to  whom  I  would  entrust  the 
arrangement  of  my  symphony  for  four  hands.  One  of 
these  is  Klindworth,  and  the  other  a  certain  person  who 
lives  in  the  Oboukhov  pereoulok.  The  latter  would  be  all 
the  dearer  to  me,  if  I  were  not  afraid  of  asking  too  much. 
Do  not  hesitate  to  refuse  my  request.  Yet  if  you  feel 
able  to  say  '  yes/  I  shall  jump  for  joy,  although  my 
corpulence  would  be  rather  an  impediment  to  such  be- 
haviour." 

To  K.  K.  Albrecht. 

"SAN  REMO,  January  %th  (20^),  1878. 

"  To-day  I  received  your  letter.  Had  it  come  a  fortnight 
ago  I  should  no  doubt  have  reflected  whether  in  refusing 
the  office  of  delegate  I  had  done  something  foolish  or 
wrong.  Now,  however,  the  matter  is  decided,  and  on 
mature  consideration  I  am  convinced  I  was  wise  not  to 
undertake  a  business  so  antipathetic  to  my  temperament. 
.  .  .  Let  us  thoroughly  consider  the  question.  In  what 
way  could  I  have  been  useful  as  a  delegate  :  First,  to  the 
cause  of  Russian  music,  and  secondly,  to  myself? 

"  i.  As  regards  Russian  music.  .  .  .  What  could  I  have 
done,  under  the  circumstances,  to  interest  the  Parisians  in 
our  music  ?  How  could  I  (unless  funds  were  forthcoming) 
arrange  concerts  and  evenings  for  chamber  music  ?  What 
a  poor  figure  I  should  have  cut  beside  the  other  delegates, 
who  were  well  supplied  with  money  !  But  even  had  funds 
been  forthcoming,  what  could  I  have  done  ?  Can  I  con- 
duct anything  ?  I  might  have  beaten  time  to  my  own 
compositions,  but  I  could  not  fill  up  the  programmes  with 
my  works.  I  must,  on  the  contrary,  have  put  them  aside 
in  order  to  bring  forward  the  compositions  of  Glinka, 
Dargomijsky,  Serov,  Rimsky-Korsakov,  Cui,  and  Borodin. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  259 

And  for  all  this  I  should  have  had  to  prepare  myself, 
unless  I  risked  bringing  disgrace  upon  Russian  music. 
That  I  should  have  disgraced  it  is  certain.  Then  all 
Russia  would  have  blamed  me  afterwards,  and  with  justifi- 
cation. I  do  not  deny  the  fact  that  a  man  of  temperament, 
skill,  and  talent  for  organisation  could  do  much.  But  you 
know  that  apart  from  my  speciality  I  am  a  useless  sort  of 
being.  So,  you  see,  I  should  have  been  of  no  service  to 
Russian  music,  even  if  the  Government  had  allowed  me 
sufficient  money  to  carry  out  any  plans. 

"2.  As  concerns  myself.  ...  I  must  say  that  the  idea  of 
making  the  acquaintance  of  the  Parisian  musical  lights 
seemed  to  me  the  most  terrible  part  of  the  business.  To 
make  myself  amiable  and  pay  court  to  all  the  ragtag  and 
bobtail  is  not  in  my  line.  Pride  shows  itself  in  many 
different  ways.  In  my  case  it  takes  the  form  of  avoiding 
all  contact  with  people  who  do  not  know  or  appreciate 
my  worth.  For  instance,  it  would  be  unbearable  to  have  to 
stand  humbly  before  Saint-Saens  and  to  be  honoured  by 
his  gracious  condescension,  when  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I 
feel  myself  as  far  above  him  as  the  Alps.  In  Paris  my  self- 
respect(which  is  very  great  in  spite  of  my  apparent  modesty) 
would  suffer  hourly  from  having  to  mix  with  all  kinds  of 
celebrities  who  would  look  down  upon  me.  To  bring  my 
works  to  their  notice,  to  convince  them  that  I  am  of  some 
consequence — this  is  impossible  to  me.  .  .  .  Now  let  us 
leave  the  question  of  my  own  reputation  and  speak  of  my 
health.  Physically  I  feel  very  well,  at  any  rate  better  than 
could  be  expected  ;  but  mentally  I  am  still  far  from  sound. 
In  a  word,  I  am  on  the  verge  of  insanity.  I  can  only  live 
in  an  atmosphere  of  complete  quiet,  quite  away  from  all 
the  turmoil  of  great  cities.  In  order  that  you  may  realise 
how  changed  I  am,  let  me  tell  you  that  now  I  spit — yes, 
spit  upon  the  thought  of  all  success  or  notoriety  abroad. 
I  beg  and  pray  one  thing  only :  to  be  let  alone.  I  would 
gladly  be  dropped  in  some  remote  desert,  if  I  could  thus 
avoid  contact  with  my  fellow-men.  ...  I  cannot  live 
without  work,  and  when  I  can  no  longer  compose  I  shall 
occupy  myself  with  other  musical  matters.  But  I  will  not 
lift  a  finger  to  push  my  works  in  the  world,  because  I  do 
not  care  about  it  one  way  or  the  other.  Anyone  can  play 


2<5o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

or  sing  my  works  if  they  please  ;  if  no  one  pleases — it  is 
all  the  same  to  me,  for,  as  I  tell  you,  I  spit,  spit,  spit  upon 
the  whole  business  !  !  !  Once  again,  I  repeat :  were  I  rich 
I  should  live  in  complete  seclusion  from  the  world  and 
only  occasionally  visit  Moscow,  to  which  I  am  deeply  at- 
tached. ...  I  am  grieved,  my  dear  Karl,  that  you  are  vexed 
with  me.  But  listen  :  I  have  learnt  from  bitter  experience 
that  we  cannot  do  violence  to  our  nature  without  being 
punished  for  it.  My  whole  self,  every  nerve,  every  fibre  in 
me,  protests  against  undertaking  this  post  of  delegate,  and 
I  subscribe  to  this  protest. 

"  Karl,  I  recommend  to  you  most  highly  my  latest  work. 
I  mean  my  symphony.  Feel  kindly  towards  it,  for  I  cannot 
be  at  rest  without  your  praise.  You  do  not  guess  how  I 
value  your  opinion.  Give  Kashkin  my  best  thanks  for  his 
letter  and  show  him  this  one  by  way  of  reply,  as  it  will 
serve  for  him  too.  Your  warm  words  about  Eugene  Oniegin 
are  1,000,000,000,000  times  more  to  me  than  the  condescen- 
sion of  any  Frenchmen.  I  embrace  you  both,  and  also 
Rubinstein.  But  as  to  fame,  I  spit,  spit,  yes,  spit  upon  it." 

To.  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  itfh  (26th),  1876. 
"  Two  nights  running  we  have  had  a  gale  from  the  north- 
west. It  howled  and  whistled  until  I  had  the  shivers. 
Last  night  it  rattled  and  shook  my  window  so  that  I 
could  not  sleep  and  began  to  think  over  my  life.  I  do  not 
know  whence  it  came,  but  suddenly  a  very  pleasant  thought 
passed  through  my  mind.  I  thought  that  I  had  never  yet 
shown  my  gratitude  to  you  in  its  fullest  extent,  my  best 
and  dearest  friend.  I  saw  clearly  that  all  you  are  doing  for 
me,  with  such  untiring  goodness  and  sympathy,  is  so  beyond 
measure  generous  that  I  am  not  really  worthy  of  it.  I 
recollected  the  crisis  when  I  found  myself  on  the  verge  of  an 
abyss,  and  believed  that  all  was  over,  that  nothing  remained 
but  to  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  how,  at  the 
same  time,  an  inward  voice  reminded  me  of  you  and  pre- 
dicted that  you  would  hold  out  your  hand  to  me.  The  inner 
voice  proved  true.  You  and  my  brothers  have  given  me 
back  my  life.  Not  only  am  I  still  living,  but  I  can  work  ; 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  261 

without  work  life  has  no  meaning  for  me.  I  know  you  do 
not  want  me  to  be  pouring  out  assurances  of  my  gratitude 
every  moment ;  but  let  me  say  once  for  all  that  I  owe  you 
everything,  everything ;  that  you  have  not  only  given  me 
the  means  to  come  through  a  very  difficult  crisis  without 
anxiety,  but  have  brought  the  new  elements  of  light  and 
gladness  into  my  life.  I  am  now  speaking  of  your  friend- 
ship, my  dear,  kind  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  and  I  assure  you 
since  I  have  found  in  you  so  eternally  good  a  friend,  I  can 
never  be  quite  unhappy  again.  Perhaps  the  time  will 
come  when  I  shall  no  longer  require  the  material  assist- 
ance you  have  bestowed  upon  me  with  such  admirable 
delicacy  of  feeling,  such  fabulous  generosity ;  but  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  do  without  the  moral  aid  and  comfort  I 
have  derived  from  you.  With  my  undecided  character, 
which  is  innate  in  me,  and  with  my  faculty  for  getting  out 
of  heart,  I  am  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  having  so 
good  a  friend  at  hand,  who  is  always  ready  to  help  me  and 
point  out  the  right  course  of  action.  I  know  you  will  not 
only  be  the  upholder  of  my  good  and  wise  achievements, 
but  also  a  judge  of  my  faults ;  a  compassionate  judge, 
however,  who  has  my  welfare  at  heart.  All  this  I  said  to 
myself  as  I  lay  awake  last  night,  and  determined  to  write 
it  to  you  to-day.  In  doing  so  I  am  merely  satisfying  my 
great  desire  to  open  my  heart  to  you. 

"  Such  a  strange  coincidence  happened  this  morning  !  A 
letter  from  N.  Rubinstein1  was  put  into  my  hands.  He 
has  returned  from  his  journey,  and  lost  no  time  in  reply- 
ing to  my  letter,  in  which  I  excused  myself  for  shirking 
the  duties  of  delegate.  His  letter  breathes  savage  wrath. 
This  would  not  matter  so  much,  but  that  the  whole  tone  of 
the  communication  is  so  dry,  so  lacking  in  cordial  feeling, 
so  exaggerated  !  He  says  my  illness  is  a  mere  fraud,  that  I 
am  only  putting  it  on,  that  I  prefer  the  dolce  far  niente 
aspect  of  life,  that  I  am  drifting  away  from  my  work,  and 
that  he  deeply  regrets  having  shown  me  so  much  sympathy, 
because  it  has  only  encouraged  my  indolence!  !  !  etc., etc." 

This  lack  of  sympathy  and  complete  misunderstanding 
of  his  motives  provoked  a  sharp  reply  on  Tchaikovsky's 
1  Unfortunately  this  letter  has  been  lost. 


262  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

part  But  in  calmer  moments  he  saw  clearly  all  the 
artistic  benefit  he  had  derived  from  N.  Rubinstein's  friend- 
ship, and  never  ceased  to  feel  grateful  for  it. 

To  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  \^th  (zt>th\  1878. 

".  .  .  .  I  received  your  letter  to-day.  It  would  have  an- 
noyed me  very  much,  had  I  not  told  myself  you  were 
keeping  in  view  my  ultimate  recovery.  To  my  regret, 
however,  you  seem  to  see  what  is  good  for  me  precisely 
where  I — and  several  others — see  what  is  inimical  to  my 
health  ;  in  the  very  thing  which  appears  to  me  an  unprofit- 
able and  aimless  exertion.  .  .  .  All  you  have  written  to  me, 
and  also  your  manner  of  saying  it,  only  proves  how  little 
you  know  me,  as  I  have  frequently  observed  on  former 
occasions.  Possibly  you  may  be  right,  and  I  am  only  put- 
ting it  on  ;  but  that  is  precisely  the  nature  of  my  illness. 
.  .  .  From  your  letter  I  can  only  gather  the  impression 
that  in  you  I  possess  a  great  benefactor,  and  that  I  have 
proved  an  ungrateful  and  unworthy  recipient  of  your  favours. 
It  is  useless  to  try  this  tone !  I  know  how  much  I  am  in- 
debted to  you  ;  but,  in  the  first  place,  your  reproaches  cool 
my  gratitude,  and,  secondly,  it  annoys  me  when  you  pose 
as  a  benefactor  in  a  matter  in  which  you  have  proved  your- 
self quite  the  reverse. 

".  .  .  But,  enough  of  this.  Let  us  rather  speak  of  those 
things  in  which  you  have  really  been  my  benefactor.  Not 
possessing  any  gifts  as  a  conductor,  I  should  certainly  have 
failed  to  make  a  name,  had  not  so  admirable  an  interpreter 
of  my  works  been  always  at  hand.  Without  you  I  should 
have  been  condemned  to  perpetual  maltreatment.  You 
are  the  one  man  who  has  rightly  understood  my  works. 
Your  extraordinary  artistic  instinct  enables  you  to  take  a 
difficult  work — without  any  previous  study — and  carry  it 
through  with  only  two  rehearsals.  I  must  beg  you  once 
again  to  bring  this  power  to  bear  upon  my  opera  and  sym- 
phony. As  regards  the  former — much  as  I  desire  it — I 
shall  not  be  hurt  if  you  find  it  impossible  to  perform  it  this 
season.  The  symphony,  on  the  other  hand,  must  be  given 
soon,  for  in  many  ways  it  would  seriously  inconvenience 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  263 

me  if  the  performance  were  postponed.  ...  I  have  often 
told  you  that  in  spite  of  my  loathing  for  the  duties  of 
a  professor,  and  the  thought  of  being  tied  for  life  to  the 
Conservatoire,  custom  has  now  made  it  impossible  for  me 
to  live  anywhere  but  in  Moscow  and  in  your  society." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"SAN  REMO,  January  i$th  (2 ^th\  1878. 

"  We  have  just  returned  from  a  beautiful  excursion  to 
Colla.  .  .  .  To-day  was  exquisite ;  a  real  spring  day.  We 
hired  a  donkey  for  Kolya,1  so  that  he  might  take  part  in  the 
outing.  It  was  not  a  very  steep  climb,  and  all  the  way 
the  olive  trees  shut  out  the  views  of  the  sea  and  town,  but 
all  the  same  it  was  beautiful.  Once  I  walked  ahead  of  the 
others  and  sat  under  a  tree,  when  suddenly  there  came  over 
me  that  feeling  of  intense  delight  which  I  so  often  ex- 
perienced during  my  country  rambles  in  Russia,  and  for 
which  I  have  longed  in  vain  since  I  have  been  here.  I  was 
alone  in  the  solemn  stillness  of  the  woods.  Such  moments 
are  wonderful,  indescribable,  not  to  be  compared  with  any 
other  experience.  The  indispensable  condition  is — soli- 
tude. I  always  like  walking  alone  in  the  country.  The 
companionship  of  anyone  as  dear  to  me  as  my  brother  has 
its  charms,  but  it  is  quite  a  different  thing.  In  a  word,  I 
was  happy.  First  of  all  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  write  to 
you,  and  on  the  way  home  yet  another  pleasure  awaited 
me.  Do  you  love  flowers?  I  am  passionately  fond  of 
them,  especially  the  wild  flowers  of  the  field  and  forest. 
To  my  mind  the  queen  of  flowers  is  the  lily-of-the-valley ; 
I  love  it  to  distraction.  Modeste,  who  is  equally  fond  of 
flowers,  is  all  for  the  violet,  so  that  we  often  fall  out  on  the 
subject.  I  declare  that  violets  smell  of  pomade,  and  he 
retorts  that  my  lilies  look  like  nightcaps.  In  any  case  I 
recognise  in  the  violet  a  dangerous  rival  to  the  lily-of-the- 
valley,  and  am  very  fond  of  it.  There  are  plenty  of  violets 
to  be  bought  in  the  streets  here,  but  as  I  had  failed  to  find 
a  single  flower,  even  after  the  most  diligent  search,  I  began 
to  regard  this  as  the  special  privilege  of  the  children  of  the 
soil.  To-day,  on  my  way  home,  I  had  the  luck  to  come 

1  Nicholas  Konradi,  pupil  of  Modeste  Tchaikovsky, 


264  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

upon  a  place  where  they  grew  in  profusion.  This  is  the 
second  subject  of  my  letter.  I  send  you  a  few  sweet  blos- 
soms gathered  by  my  own  hand.  May  they  remind  you  of 
the  South,  the  sun,  and  the  sea  ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  2$th  (February  6tA),  1878. 

"  I  am  feeling  splendidly  well.  My  physical  health  is 
first-rate;  my  head  clear  and  strong.  I  observe  myself 
with  delight,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  am 
now  completely  recovered.  Do  you  know,  my  dear  friend, 
people  have  not  been  altogether  wrong  in  reporting  that  I 
had  gone  out  of  my  mind  ?  When  I  look  back  on  all  I  did, 
and  all  the  follies  I  committed,  I  am  unwillingly  forced  to 
the  conclusion  that  my  brain  was  temporarily  affected,  and 
has  only  now  returned  to  its  normal  state.  Much  in  my 
recent  condition  now  takes  on  the  semblance  of  a  strange 
dream ;  something  remote,  a  weird  nightmare  in  which  a 
man  bearing  my  name,  my  likeness,  and  my  consciousness 
acted  as  one  acts  in  dreams:  in  a  meaningless,  disconnected, 
paradoxical  way.  That  was  not  my  sane  self,  in  full 
possession  of  logical  and  reasonable  will-powers.  Every- 
thing I  did  then  bore  the  character  of  an  unhealthy  conflict 
between  will  and  intelligence,  which  is  nothing  less  than 
insanity.  Amid  these  nightmares  which  darkened  my 
world  during  this  strange  and  terrible  —  but  fortunately 
brief — period,  I  clung  for  salvation  to  the  one  or  two  beings 
who  were  dearest  to  me,  who  seemed  sent  to  draw  me  out 
of  the  abyss.  To  you,  and  to  my  two  dear  brothers,  to  all 
three  of  you,  I  owe,  not  only  my  life,  but  my  mental  and 
physical  recovery." 

To  P.  L  Jurgenson. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  26^/1  (February  7//fc),  1878. 

"  Your  letter  reached  me  to-day,  dear  Peter  Ivanovich. 
You  are  very  kind.  I  am  deeply  touched  by  your 
liberality.  All  the  same,  I  will  not  accept  any  money  for 
the  opera  unless  it  should  be  performed  in  some  important 
theatre,  and,  even  then,  nothing  approaching  to  the  large 
sum  you  propose.  The  fee  for  the  symphony  I  wish  to 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  265 

pass  on  to  Taneiev.  For  the  translations  I  cannot  take 
anything  from  you,  because  I  think  them  very  poor.  As 
regards  a  fee  for  the  violin  and  'cello  pieces,  we  will  speak 
of  it  later. 

"Dearest  friend,  I  am  only  too  thankful  that  you  are 
not  parsimonious  to  me  and  are  so  willing  to  publish  my 
works.  But  this  is  nothing  new.  I  have  always  appre- 
ciated your  large-hearted  liberality.  Merci,  merci,  merci!" 

To  Nicholas  Rubinstein. 
"SAN  REMO,  January  30^  (February  n///),  1878. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  read  your  letter  with  great 
pleasure.  ...  If  I  expressed  myself  too  sharply,  please 
forget  it.  Now  let  us  drop  the  subject  entirely. 

"  I  think  you  have  acted  wisely  in  postponing  my  opera 
until  next  year.  I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  better  to  have 
it  studied  without  undue  haste  and  to  perform  the  work  in 
its  entirety.  You  may  rest  assured  that  I  shall  not  give 
the  work  to  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire.  So  far,  I  have 
not  been  asked  to  do  so  ;  if  I  were  invited,  I  should  refuse. 
I  hope  this  letter  may  reach  you  about  the  moment  of  the 
first  rehearsal  of  my  (Fourth)  Symphony.  I  am  very 
anxious  about  the  Scherzo.  I  think  I  told  you  that  the 
quicker  it  can  go,  the  better.  Now  I  begin  to  think  it 
should  not  be  taken  too  fast.  However,  I  entrust  myself 
entirely  to  your  intelligence,  and  believe  you  will  find  out 
the  right  tempo  better  than  I  can. 

"  I  have  read  your  letter  a  second  time.  You  ask  if 
I  care  to  have  your  advice.  Of  course  I  do.  You  know  I 
am  always  ready  to  accept  the  advice  of  a  judicious  friend 
and  that  I  have  frequently  sought  yours,  not  only  in 
matters  concerning  music,  but  in  my  daily  life.  It  was  not 
the  advice  you  gave  me  in  your  letter  which  hurt  me,  but 
the  harsh,  dry  tone  (at  least  so  it  seemed  to  me)  of  your 
communication,  the  reproach  to  my  indolence,  and  the  in- 
sinuation that  I  only  refused  to  go  to  Paris  because  N.  von 
Meek  was  allowing  me  enough  to  live  upon  ;  in  short,  you 
entirely  misunderstood  the  true  motives  of  my  conduct. 

"  I  have  become  terribly  misanthropical,  and  dread  the 
thought  of  having  to  change  my  present  mode  of  life,  in 


266  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

which  I  hardly  come  in  contact  with  anyone.  At  the  same 
time  I  am  weary  of  it,  and  would  gladly  relinquish  all  the 
natural  beauties  and  the  climate  of  this  place  to  be  once 
more  in  my  beloved  Moscow." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SAN  REMO,  February  ist  (i$th\  1878. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND,— Yesterday  I  forgot  to  thank  you 
for  the  Schopenhauer.1 

"  Has  not  the  thought  occurred  to  you  that  now  I  am 
quite  recovered  I  ought  to  return  to  Russia  to  take  up  my 
duties  at  the  Conservatoire  and  my  old  ways  of  life  ?  The 
thought  constantly  passes  through  my  mind,  and  perhaps 
it  might  be  good  for  me  in  every  way  if  I  decided  to  act 
upon  it.  And  yet,  with  all  my  longing  for  Russia,  and 
my  attachment  to  Moscow,  I  should  find  it  terribly  hard 
suddenly  to  give  up  this  life  of  freedom  and  the  convales- 
cence I  am  now  enjoying,  and  return  to  my  teaching  and 
my  various  complications — in  a  word,  to  my  old  life.  I 
shudder  at  the  very  thought.  Give  me  your  frank  opinion. 
Answer  me  this  question,  entirely  oblivious  of  the  fact  that 
you  are  making  me  an  allowance.  The  fact  that  I  profited 
by  your  wealth  to  travel  abroad  for  my  health's  sake  does 
not  weigh  upon  me  seriously.  I  know  the  sentiment  which 
prompted  your  offer  of  pecuniary  assistance,  and  I  have 
long  since  grown  to  regard  the  situation  as  quite  normal. 
My  relations  with  you  are  outside  the  scope  of  everyday 
friendship.  From  you  I  can  accept  assistance  without  any 
sense  of  embarrassment.  This  is  not  the  difficulty. 

"  Since  Rubinstein  told  me  I  was  drifting  into  indolence 
and  feigning  ill-health  (that  was  his  expression)  I  have  been 
somewhat  troubled  by  the  thought  that  perhaps  it  was 
actually  my  duty  to  hasten  back  to  Moscow.  Help  me  to 
decide  this  question,  kind  friend,  without  showing  me 
excessive  indulgence. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  if  they  have  been  able  to  do  without 
me  for  six  months,  surely  now — when  there  remain  but 
three  months  before  the  vacation — I  shall  not  be  greatly 
missed  ...  To  sum  up  the  foregoing  arguments  :  although 

1  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  267 

I  may  now  be  equal  to  resuming  my  duties,  it  would  be 
very  hard  upon  me  to  be  forced  to  do  so,  because  I  am  most 
anxious  to  give  myself  a  longer  convalescence  in  order  to 
return  in  September  altogether  a  new  man,  having  forgot- 
ten— as  far  as  forgetfulness  is  possible — the  unhappy 
events  of  six  months  ago.  My  request  to  you  involves  a 
strange  contradiction.  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  and, 
without  allowing  yourself  to  be  influenced  by  any  side 
issues,  to  exact  the  fulfilment  of  my  duty  ;  while  at  the 
same  time  you  will  read  between  the  lines :  for  God's  sake 
do  not  insist  on  my  returning  to  Moscow  now,  for  it  will 
make  me  profoundly  miserable. 

"  I  remember  writing  to  you  in  a  very  depressed  frame 
of  mind  from  Florence,  for  I  was  out  of  spirits  at  the  time. 
Florence  itself  was  in  no  way  to  blame  for  my  mood.  Now 
I  am  feeling  quite  well  again,  I  have  conceived  a  great  wish 
to  return  there,  chiefly  because  Modeste  has  never  been  in 
Italy  and  I  know  how  he  would  enjoy  all  the  art  treasures 
in  that  city.  He  has  far  greater  feeling  for  the  plastic  arts 
than  I  have,  and  possibly  his  enthusiasm  may  be  communi- 
cated to  me.  So  I  have  decided  to  await  the  coming  of 
spring  in  Florence  and  then  go  to  Switzerland  vid  Mont 
Cenis.  Early  in  April  I  shall  return  to  Russia,  probably  to 
Kamenka,  where  I  shall  stay  until  September. 

"  I  will  not  attempt  to  conceal  from  you,  most  invaluable 
of  friends,  that  the  consciousness  of  having  achieved  two 
works  on  a  large  scale,  in  both  of  which,  it  seems  to  me,  I 
have  made  a  distinct  advance,  is  a  great  source  of  consola- 
tion. The  rehearsals  for  the  symphony  will  commence 
soon.  Would  you  find  it  possible — if  you  are  quite  well 
by  then — to  attend  one  of  them  ?  One  gains  so  much  by 
hearing  a  new  and  lengthy  work  twice.  I  am  so  anxious 
you  should  like  this  symphony !  It  is  impossible  to  get  a 
true  idea  of  it  at  one  hearing.  The  second  time  it  grows 
clearer.  Much  that  escapes  us  at  first  then  attracts  our 
attention  ;  the  details  fall  into  place ;  the  leading  ideas 
assume  their  proper  proportions  as  compared  with  the 
subordinate  matter.  It  would  be  such  an  excellent  thing 
if  you  could  manage  this. 

"  I  am  in  a  rose-coloured  mood.  Glad  the  opera  is 
finished,  glad  spring  is  at  hand,  glad  I  am  well  and  free, 


268  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

glad  to  feel  safe  from  unpleasant  meetings,  but  happiest  of 
all  to  possess  in  your  friendship,  and  in  my  brothers'  affec- 
tion, such  sure  props  in  life,  and  to  be  conscious  that  I  may 
eventually  perfect  my  art.  I  trust  this  feeling  is  no  self- 
deception,  but  a  just  appreciation  of  my  powers.  I  thank 
you  for  all,  for  all." 


VI 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  February  ^th  (2ij/),  1878. 

"  We  arrived  in  Florence  to-day.  A  charming  and 
attractive  town.  I  came  here  with  the  pleasantest  feelings, 
and  thought  how  different  the  place  appeared  to  me  two 
months  ago.  What  a  change  has  taken  place  in  my  mental 
state!  What  a  sad  and  sorry  creature  I  was  then — and 
now,  how  well  I  am!  What  glad  days  lie  before  me!  Once 
again  I  am  able  to  delight  in  life,  in  the  full,  luxuriant  life 
of  Italy. 

"  This  evening  we  wandered  through  the  streets.  How 
beautiful !  A  mild  evening ;  the  life  and  bustle  of  the 
thoroughfares;  the  brilliant  illumination  of  the  shop- 
windows  !  What  fun  it  is  to  mix  with  the  crowd,  un- 
known and  unrecognised!  Italy  is  beginning  to  cast  over 
me  her  magic  spell.  I  feel  so  free  here,  so  cheerful,  amid 
the  turmoil  and  hum  of  life. 

"But  in  spite  of  the  enjoyments  of  life  in  Italy,  in  spite  of 
the  good  effect  it  has  upon  me — I  am,  and  shall  ever  be, 
faithful  to  my  Russia.  Do  you  know,  I  have  never  yet 
come  across  anyone  so  much  in  love  with  Mother  Russia 
— especially  Great  Russia — as  myself?  The  verses  by 
Lermontov  which  you  sent  me  only  depict  one  side  of  our 
native  land :  that  indefinable  charm  which  lies  in  our 
modest,  plain,  poor,  but  wide  and  open  landscape.  I  go 
further.  I  am  passionately  devoted  to  the  Russian  people, 
to  the  language,  to  the  Russian  spirit,  to  the  fine  Russian 
type  of  countenance  and  to  Russian  customs.  Lermontov 
says  frankly :  *  the  sacred  traditions  of  our  past '  do  not 
move  his  soul.  I  love  these  traditions.  I  believe  my 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  269 

sympathy  for  the  Orthodox  faith,  the  tenets  of  which  have 
long  been  undermined  in  me  by  destructive  criticism,  has 
its  source  in  my  innate  affection  for  its  national  element. 
I  could  not  say  what  particular  virtue  or  quality  it  is  which 
endears  Russia  and  the  Russians  to  me.  No  doubt  such 
qualities  exist.  A  lover,  however,  does  not  love  for  such 
reasons,  but  because  he  cannot  help  himself. 

"  This  is  why  I  feel  so  angry  with  those  among  us  who 
are  ready  to  perish  of  hunger  in  a  garret  in  Paris,  and  who 
seem  to  enjoy  running  down  everything  Russian ;  who  can 
spend  their  whole  lives  abroad  without  regret,  on  the 
grounds  that  there  are  fewer  comforts  to  be  had  in  Russia. 
I  hate  these  people ;  they  trample  in  the  mud  all  that  to 
me  is  inexpressibly  precious  and  sacred. 

"But  to  return  to  Italy.  It  would  be  a  heavy  punish- 
ment to  be  condemned  to  spend  my  life  in  this  beautiful 
land ;  but  a  temporary  sojourn  here  is  another  matter. 
Everything  in  Italy  exercises  a  charm  for  one  who  is 
travelling  for  health  and  relaxation.  .  .  .  This  conviction 
has  so  gained  ground  with  me  that  I  am  beginning  to 
wonder  if,  instead  of  going  to  Switzerland,  it  might  not  be 
better  to  visit  Naples.  Naples  continually  beckons  and 
calls  to  me !  I  have  not  yet  definitely  decided.  It  will  be 
wiser  to  think  it  over.  Of  course  I  shall  let  you  know  the 
result  of  my  reflections  in  good  time. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  been  amused  by  the  letter  in 
which  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  give  you  a  brief  outline  of 
Schopenhauer's  philosophy.  It  is  evident  that  you  are 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  subject,  while  I  have  hardly 
yet  reached  the  essential  question  :  the  moral  aspect  of 
the  matter.  It  strikes  me  you  make  a  very  just  evaluation 
of  his  curious  theories.  His  final  deductions  contain  some- 
thing hurtful  to  human  dignity,  something  dry  and  egotis- 
tical, which  is  not  warmed  by  any  love  towards  mankind. 
However,  as  I  have  said,  I  have  not  yet  got  to  the  root  of 
the  matter.  In  the  exposition  of  his  views  upon  the  mean- 
ing of  intelligence  and  will,  and  their  interrelationship, 
there  is  much  truth  and  ingenuity.  Like  yourself,  I  marvel 
how  a  man  who  has  never  attempted  to  carry  out  in  his 
own  life  his  theories  of  austere  asceticism  should  preach  to 
others  the  complete  renunciation  of  all  the  joys  of  life.  In 


270  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

any  case  the  book  interests  me  immensely,  and  I  hope  to 
discuss  it  further  with  you  after  a  more  thorough  study  of 
its  contents.  Meanwhile,  just  one  observation  :  how  can  a 
man  who  takes  so  low  a  view  of  human  intelligence,  and 
accords  it  so  subordinate  a  position,  display  at  the  same 
time  such  self-assurance,  such  a  haughty  belief  in  the  in- 
fallibility of  his  own  reason,  heaping  contempt  upon  the 
views  of  others,  and  regarding  himself  as  the  sole  arbiter 
of  truth?  What  a  contradiction  !  To  declare  at  each  step 
that  the  reasoning  faculty  in  man  is  something  fortuitous, 
a  function  of  the  brain  (therefore  merely  a  physiological 
function),  and  as  weak  and  imperfect  as  all  human  things — 
and  at  the  same  time  to  set  such  value  upon  his  own  pro- 
cess of  reasoning  !  A  philosopher  like  Schopenhauer,  who 
goes  so  far  as  to  deny  to  mankind  anything  beyond  an 
instinctive  desire  to  perpetuate  his  species,  ought,  first  of 
all,  to  be  prepared  to  acknowledge  the  complete  uselessness 
of  all  systems  of  philosophy.  A  man  who  is  convinced 
that  non-existence  is  the  best  thing  of  all  should  endeavour 
to  act  up  to  his  conviction  ;  should  suppress  himself,  anni- 
hilate himself,  and  leave  those  in  peace  who  desire  to  live. 
So  far,  I  cannot  quite  make  out  whether  he  really  believes 
himself  to  be  doing  mankind  a  great  service  by  his  philoso- 
phy. What  use  is  it  to  prove  to  us  that  there  can  be  nothing 
more  lamentable  than  existence?  If  the  blind  instinct  of 
perpetuation  is  so  strong  in  us,  if  no  power  suffices  to 
weaken  our  love  of  individual  life,  why  should  he  poison 
this  life  with  his  pessimism?  What  end  does  this  serve? 
It  might  seem  as  though  he  were  advocating  suicide ;  but 
on  the  contrary,  he  forbids  self-destruction.  These  are 
questions  which  arise  in  my  mind,  and  to  which  perhaps  I 
may  find  answers  when  I  have  finished  the  book. 

"You  ask  me,  my  friend,  if  I  have  known  love  other 
than  platonic.  Yes  and  no.  If  the  question  had  been 
differently  put,  if  you  had  asked  me  whether  I  had  ever 
found  complete  happiness  in  love,  I  should  have  replied  no, 
and  again,  no.  Besides,  I  think  the  answer  to  this  question 
is  to  be  heard  in  my  music.  If,  however,  you  ask  me 
whether  I  have  felt  the  whole  power  and  inexpressible 
stress  of  love,  I  must  reply  yes,  yes,  yes ;  for  often  and 
often  have  I  striven  to  render  in  music  all  the  anguish  and 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  271 

the  bliss  of  love.  Whether  I  have  been  successful  I  do  not 
know,  or  rather  I  leave  others  to  judge.  I  do  not  in  the 
least  agree  with  you  that  music  cannot  interpret  the  univer- 
sal nature  of  love.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  only  music  is 
capable  of  doing  so.  You  say  words  are  necessary.  O  no ! 
This  is  just  where  words  are  not  needed,  and  where  they 
have  no  power ;  a  more  eloquent  language  comes  in,  which 
is  music.  Look  at  the  poetical  forms  to  which  poets  have 
recourse  in  order  to  sing  of  love ;  they  simply  usurp  the 
spheres  which  belong  inseparably  to  music.  Words  clothed 
in  poetical  forms  cease  to  be  mere  words ;  they  become 
partly  music.  The  best  proof  that  love-poetry  is  really 
more  music  than  words  lies  in  the  fact  that  such  poetry — 
if  you  read  it  carefully  from  the  point  of  view  of  words 
rather  than  of  music — contains  very  little  meaning.  (I  refer 
you  to  the  poet  Fet,  whom  I  greatly  admire.)  And  yet  it 
has  a  meaning,  and  a  very  profound  one,  although  it  is 
more  musical  than  literary. 

"  I  am  delighted  that  you  value  instrumental  music  so 
highly.  Your  observation  that  words  often  spoil  music 
and  degrade  it  from  its  highest  level  is  perfectly  true.  I 
have  often  felt  this  very  keenly,  and  perhaps  therein  lies 
the  reason  why  I  am  more  successful  with  instrumental 
than  with  vocal  music." 

On  February  loth  (22nd),  Tchaikovsky's  Fourth  Sym- 
phony was  performed  for  the  first  time  at  one  of  the 
symphony  concerts  of  the  Russian  Musical  Society.  It 
did  not  produce,  either  upon  the  public  or  the  Press,  that 
impression  which  the  composer  had  confidently  awaited. 
Most  of  the  papers  passed  it  over  in  silence,  and  the 
remainder  only  record  an  indifferent  success,  both  for  the 
work  and  its  performance. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"FLORENCE,  February  i2th  (24^),  1878. 

"  Early  yesterday  came  your  telegram,  dear  friend.  It 
gave  me  inexpressible  pleasure.  I  was  more  than  anxious 
to  know  how  you  liked  the  Symphony.  Probably  you 


272  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

would  have  given  me  some  friendly  sign  of  your  sympathy, 
even  if  you  had  not  cared  much  about  it.  From  the  warm 
tone  of  your  telegram,  however,  I  see  that  you  are  satisfied, 
on  the  whole,  with  the  work  which  was  written  for  you.  In 
my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  sure  it  is  the  best  thing  I  have" 
done  so  far.  It  seems  rather  strange  that  not  one  of  my 
friends  in  Moscow  has  thought  it  worth  while  to  give  me 
any  news  of  the  Symphony,  although  I  sent  off  the  score 
nearly  six  weeks  ago.  At  the  same  time  as  your  telegram 
I  received  one  signed  by  Rubinstein  and  all  the  others. 
But  it  only  stated  the  fact  that  the  work  had  been  very 
well  performed.  Not  a  word  as  to  its  merits ;  perhaps  that 
is  intended  to  be  understood.  Thank  you  for  your  news 
of  the  success  of  'my  favourite  child/  and  the  cordial  words 
of  your  telegram.  My  thoughts  were  in  the  concert-room. 
I  calculated  the  moment  when  the  opening  phrase  would 
be  heard,  and  endeavoured,  by  following  every  detail,  to 
realise  the  effect  of  my  music  upon  the  public.  _  The  first 
012Y^OienJL{the_most  complicated,  but  alsojthe_best)  is  proJ>~ 
ably  far  too  long,  and  would  not  be  completely  understood 
aT  the  rirst  hearing.  The  other  movements  are  simple. .  .  . 
-  "liiarverTrot finished  Schopenhauer  yet,  and  am  saving  up 
my  opinions  upon  it  for  some  future  letter.  I  have  been 
twice  with  my  brother  to  the  Uffizi  and  Palazzo  Pitti. 
Thanks  to  Modeste,  I  took  in  a  good  many  artistic  impres- 
sions. He  was  lost  in  ecstasy  before  the  masterpieces  of 
Raphael  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  We  also  visited  an 
exhibition  of  modern  pictures,  and  discovered  a  few  fine 
works.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  spirit  of  realism  has 
entered  into  modern  Italian  painting.  All  the  pictures 
I  have  seen  here  by  painters  of  the  present  day  are 
more  remarkable  for  the  truthful  presentment  of  details 
than  for  profound  or  poetic  thought.  The  figures  are  very 
lifelike,  even  when  the  conception  is  crude.  For  instance, 
a  page  drawing  aside  a  curtain ;  both  page  and  curtain  are 
so  real  that  one  actually  expects  to  see  some  movement. 
An  old  Pompeiian  woman,  leaning  back  in  an  ancient 
chair  and  indulging  in  a  burst  of  Homeric  laughter,  makes 
one  want  to  laugh  too.  All  this  has  no  pretensions  to 
profound  thought,  but  the  drawing  and  colouring  are 
astonishingly  truthful. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  273 

"  As  regards  music,  Italy  is  in  a  bad  way.  Such  a  town 
as  Florence,  for  instance,  has  no  opera  house.  There  are 
theatres,  but  nothing  is  given  in  them  because  there  is  no 
impresario." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  February  i6th  (28^),  1878. 

".  .  .  Of  all  that  I  have  seen  here  the  chapel  of  the 
Medici  in  San  Lorenzo  has  made  the  most  profound  im- 
pression upon  me.  It  is  grandiose  and  beautiful.  Here, 
for  the  first  time,  I  realised  the  greatness  of  Michael 
Angelo  in  its  fullest  significance.  I  think  he  has  a  spiritual 
affinity  with  Beethoven.  The  same  breadth  and  power, 
the  same  daring  courage,  which  sometimes  almost  oversteps 
the  limits  of  the  beautiful,  the  same  dark  and  troubled 
moods.  Probably  this  idea  is  not  original.  Taine  gives  a 
very  ingenious  comparison  between  Raphael  and  Mozart. 
But  whether  anyone  has  ever  drawn  a  parallel  between 
Michael  Angelo  and  Beethoven  I  cannot  say. 

"  I  have  finished  Schopenhauer.  I  do  not  know  what 
impression  this  philosophy  might  have  made  upon  me  had 
I  come  to  know  it  in  some  other  place,  under  different 
surroundings.  Here  it  seems  to  me  only  a  brilliant  para- 
dox. I  think  Schopenhauer's  inconsequence  lies  in  his 
ultimate  conclusions.  When  he  has  proved  that  non- 
existence  is  better  than  existence,  we  say  to  ourselves : 
granted,  but  what  are  we  to  do?  It  is  in  his  reply  to  this 
question  that  he  shows  his  weakness.  Logically,  his 
theories  lead  direct  to  suicide.  But  Schopenhauer  evi- 
dently shrinks  from  this  dangerous  method  of  shifting  the 
burden  of  life,  and  not  daring  to  recommend  self-destruc- 
tion as  a  universal  method  of  carrying  his  philosophy  into 
practice,  he  falls  into  a  curious  sophistry  and  endeavours  to 
prove  that  the  man  who  commits  suicide  merely  lays  stress 
on  his  love  of  life.  This  is  neither  logical  nor  ingenious. 
As  regards  '  Nirvana,'  this  is  a  species  of  insanity  not 
worth  discussion.  But,  in  any  case,  I  have  read  Schopen- 
hauer with  the  greatest  interest,  and  found  in  him  much 
that  is  extraordinarily  clever.  His  definition  of  love  is 
original,  although  a  few  details  are  somewhat  distorted 


274  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

and  wrested  from  the  truth.  You  are  quite  right  in  saying 
that  we  must  regard  with  suspicion  the  views  of  a  philoso- 
pher who  bids  us  renounce  all  joy  in  life  and  stamp  out 
every  lust  of  the  flesh,  while  he  himself,  without  any 
qualms  of  conscience,  enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  existence 
to  the  day  of  his  death,  and  had  a  very  good  notion  of 
managing  his  affairs  for  the  best." 


To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  February  17 th  (March  \st\  1878. 

"What  joy  your  letter  brought  me  to-day,  dearest 
Nadejda  Filaretovna!  I  am  inexpressibly  delighted  that 
the  symphony  pleases  you  :  that,  hearing  it,  you  felt  just  as 
I  did  while  writing  it,  and  that  my  music  found  its  way  to 
your  heart. 

"  You  ask  if  in  composing  this  symphony  I  had  a  special 
programme  in  view.  To  such  questions  regarding  my  sym- 
phonic works  I  generally  answer  :  nothing  of  the  kind.  In 
reality  it  is  very  difficult  to  answer  this  question.  How 
interpret  those  vague  feelings  which  pass  through  one 
during  the  composition  of  an  instrumental  work,  without 
reference  to  any  definite  subject  ?  It  is  a  purely  lyrical 
process.  A  kind  of  musical  shriving  of  the  soul,  in  which 
there  is  an  encrustation  of  material  which  flows  forth  again 
in  notes,  just  as  the  lyrical  poet  pours  himself  out  in  verse. 
The  difference  consists  in  the  fact  that  music  possesses  far 
richer  means  of  expression,  and  is  a  more  subtle  medium 
in  which  to  translate  the  thousand  shifting  moments  in 
the  mood  of  a  soul.  Generally  speaking,  the  germ  of  a 
future  composition  comes  suddenly  and  unexpectedly.  If 
the  soil  is  ready — that  is  to  say,  if  the  disposition  for  work 
is  there — it  takes  root  with  extraordinary  force  and  rapidity, 
shoots  up  through  the  earth,  puts  forth  branches,  leaves, 
and,  finally,  blossoms.  I  cannot  define  the  creative  process 
in  any  other  way  than  by  this  simile.  The  great  difficulty 
is  that  the  germ  must  appear  at  a  favourable  moment,  the 
rest  goes  of  itself.  It  would  be  vain  to  try  to  put  into 
words  that  immeasurable  sense  of  bliss  which  comes  over 
me  directly  a  new  idea  awakens  in  me  and  begins  to  assume 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  275 

a  definite  form.  I  forget  everything  and  behave  like  a 
madman.  Everything  within  me  starts  pulsing  and  quiver- 
ing ;  hardly  have  I  begun  the  sketch  ere  one  thought 
follows  another.  In  the  midst  of  this  magic  process  it 
frequently  happens  that  some  external  interruption  wakes 
me  from  my  somnambulistic  state :  a  ring  at  the  bell,  the 
entrance  of  my  servant,  the  striking  of  the  clock,  reminding 
me  that  it  is  time  to  leave  off.  Dreadful,  indeed,  are  such 
interruptions.  Sometimes  they  break  the  thread  of  inspira- 
tion for  a  considerable  time,  so  that  I  have  to  seek  it  again 
— often  in  vain.  In  such  cases  cool  head  work  and  technical 
knowledge  have  to  come  to  my  aid.  Even  in  the  works  of 
the  greatest  master  we  find  such  moments,  when  the 
organic  sequence  fails  and  a  skilful  join  has  to  be  made,  so 
that  the  parts  appear  as  a  completely  welded  whole. 
But  it  cannot  be  avoided.  If  that  condition  of  mind  and 
soul,  which  we  call  inspiration,  lasted  long  without  inter- 
mission, no  artist  could  survive  it.  The  strings  would 
break  and  the  instrument  be  shattered  into  fragments.  It 
is  already  a  great  thing  if  the  main  ideas  and  general 
outline  of  a  work  come  without  any  racking  of  brains,  as 
the  result  of  that  supernatural  and  inexplicable  force  we 
call  inspiration. 

"  However,  I  have  wandered  from  the  point  without 
answering  your  question.  Our  symphony  has  a  programme. 
That  is  to  say,  it  is  possible  to  express  its  contents  in 
words,  and  I  will  tell  you — and  you  alone — the  meaning  of 
the  entire  work  and  of  its  separate  movements.  Natur- 
ally I  can  only  do  so  as  regards  its  general  features. 

"  The  Introduction  is  the  germ,  the  leading_idea  of  the 
whole  work. 


"This  is  Fate,  that  inevitable  force  which  checks  our 
aspirations  towards  happiness"~eTe~Triey  reach   the  goaf 

which  watches  jealously  lest  our  peace  and  bliss  should  be 
complete  and  cloudless— a  force  which,  like  the  sword"  of 


276 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


Damocles,  hangs  perpetually  over  our  heads  and  is  always 
embittering  the  soul.  This  force  is  inescapable  and  in- 
vincible. There  is  no  other  course  but  to  submit  and 
inwardly  lament. 


etc. 


"The  sense  of  hopeless  despair  grows  stronger  and  more 
poignant.  Is  it  not  better  to  turn  from  reality  and  lose 
ourselves  in  dreams  ? 


etc. 


O  joy !    A  sweet  and  tender  dream  enfolds  me.    A  bright 
and  serene  presence  leads  me  on. 


How  fair !  How  remotely  now  is  heard  the  first  theme  of 
the  Allegro!  Deeper  and  deeper  the  soul  is  sunk  in  dreams. 
All  that  was  dark  and  joyless  is  forgotten. 

11  Here  is  happiness ! 

"  It  is  but  a  dream,  Fate  awakens  us  roughly. 


So  all  life  is  but  a  continual  alternation  between  grim 
truth  and  fleeting  dreams  of  happiness.  There  is  no 
haven.  The  waves  drive  us  hither  and  thither,  until  the 
sea  engulfs  us.  This  is,  approximately,  the  programme  of 
the  first  movement. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  277 

"The  second  movement  expresses  another  phase  of 
suffering.  Now  it  is  the  melancholy  which  steals  over  us 
when  at  evening  we  sit  indoors  alone,  weary  of  work,  while 
the  .book  we  have  picked  up  for  relaxation  slips  unheeded 
from  our  ringers.  A  long  procession  of  old  memories  goes 
^oy.  How  sad  to~think  how  much  is  already  past  and  gone! 
And  yet  these  recollections  of  youth  are  sweet  We  regret 
the  past,  although  we  have  neither  courage  nor  desire  to 
start  a  new  life.  We  are  rather  weary  of  existence.  We 
would  fain  rest  awhile  and  look  back,  recalling  many 
things.  There  were  moments  when  young  blood  pulsed 
warm  through  our  veins  and  lifej^aye  all  we  asked.  There 
were  also  moments  of  sorrow,  irreparable  loss'  All  this 
has  receded  so  far  into  the  past.  Howjsad,  yet  sweet  to 
lose  ourselves  therein ! 

"  In  the  third  movement  no  definite  feelings  find  expres- 
sion.   Here^we  Have  only  capricious  arabesque^  intangible 

Torinsv which  come  into  ji/man's  head  when  he  has  been 
"drinking  wine  and  his  ^nerves  are  jjjther  excited.  His 
mood  is  neither"  joyfuT^orsad  He~thinks  of  nothing  in 

__  particular:  His  fancyTsT'eer  to  follow  its  own  Hjight,  and 
it  designs  the  strangest  patterns.  Suddenly  memory  calls 
up  the  picture  of  a  tipsy  peasant'and  a  street  song.  From 
afar  come  the  sounds  of  a  military  band.  These  are  the 
kind  of  confused  images  which  pass  through  our  brains  as 
we  fall  asleep.  They  have  no  connection  with  actuality, 
but  are  simply  wild,  strange,  and  bizarre. 

"The  fourth  movement.  If  you  can  find  no  reasons  for 
happiness  in_.yourself.  look  at  others.  Go  to  the  people. 
Seehow  they  can  enjoy  ^ife jmdjjiyeTt^m^ejyej;  ^ 
to  festivity.  A  rustic^  holiday  isdepicted.'  Hardly  have 

r  we  had  time  to  forget_ourselves  in  the  spectacle  of  other 
people's  pleasure,  when  indefatigable  Fate  reminds  us  once 
more  of  its  presence.  Others  pay  no  heed  to  us.  They 
do  not  spare  us  a  glance,  nor  stop  to  observe  that  we  are 
lonely  and  sad.  How  merry,  how  glad  they  all  are !  All 
their  feelings  are  so  inconsequent,  so  simple.  And  will  you 
still  say  that  all  the  world  is  immersed  in  sorrow  ?  Hap- 
piness does  exist,  simple  and  unspoilt.  Be  glad  in  others' 
gladness.  This  makes  life  possible. 

"  I  can  tell  you  no  more,  dear  friend,  about  the  symphony. 


278  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Naturally  my  description  is  not  very  clear  or  satisfactory. 
But  there  lies  the  peculiarity  of  instrumental  music ;  we 
cannot  analyse  it.  '  Where  words  leave  off,  music  begins/ 
as  Heine  has  said. 

"  It  is  growing  late.  I  will  not  tell  you  anything  about 
Florence  in  this  letter.  Only  one  thing — that  I  shall  always 
keep  a  happy  memory  of  this  place. 

"  P.S. — Just  as  I  was  putting  my  letter  into  the  envelope 
I  began  to  read  it  again,  and  to  feel  misgivings  as  to  the 
confused  and  incomplete  programme  which  I  am  sending 
you.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  attempted  to  put 
my  musical  thoughts  and  forms  into  words  and  phrases.  I 
have  not  been  very  successful.  I  was  horribly  out  of  spirits 
all  the  time  I  was  composing  this  symphony  last  winter, 
and  this  is  a  true  echo  of  my  feelings  at  the  time.  But 
only  an  echo.  How  is  it  possible  to  reproduce  it  in  clear 
and  definite  language?  I  do  not  know.  I  have  already 
forgotten  a  good  deal.  Only  the  general  impression  of  my 
passionate  and  sorrowful  experiences  has  remained.  I  am 
very,  very  anxious  to  know  what  my  friends  in  Moscow  say 
of  my  work. 

"  Last  night  I  went  to  the  People's  Theatre,  and  was  very 
much  amused.  Italian  humour  is  coarse,  and  lacks  grace 
and  delicacy,  but  it  carries  everything  before  it." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"FLORENCE,  February  2oM  (March  tfh\  1878. 
"To-day  is  the  last  day  but  one  of  the  Carnival.  .  .  . 
My  window  is  open.  I  am  drinking  in  with  delight  the 
cool  night  air  after  a  hot  spring  day.  How  strange,  how 
odd,  but  yet  how  sweet,  to  think  of  my  dear  and  distant 
country!  There  it  is  still  winter  !  Probably  you  are  sitting 
near  the  stove  in  your  study.  Fur-clad  figures  go  to  and 
fro  in  your  house.  The  silence  is  unbroken  by  any  sound 
of  wheels,  since  all  conveyances  are  turned  into  sleighs. 
How  far  we  are  apart !  You  amid  winter  snows,  and  I  in 
a  land  where  spring  is  green,  and  my  window  stands  open 
at  II  p.m.!  And  yet  I  look  back  with  affection  to  our 
seasons.  I  love  our  long,  hard  winters.  How  beautiful  it 
is !  How  magical  is  the  suddenness  of  our  spring,  when  it 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  279 

bursts  upon  us  with  its  first  message !  I  delight  in  the 
trickle  of  melting  snow  in  the  streets,  and  the  sense  of 
something  life-giving  and  exhilarating  that  pervades  the 
atmosphere  !  With  what  delight  we  welcome  the  first  blade 
of  grass,  the  first  sprouting  seed,  the  arrival  of  the  lark  and 
all  our  summer  guests !  Here,  spring  comes  by  gradual 
stages,  so  that  we  cannot  actually  fix  the  time  of  its 
awakening. 

"  Do  you  remember  I  once  wrote  to  you  from  Florence 
about  a  boy  with  a  lovely  and  touching  voice  ?  A  few  days 
ago  I  met  some  street-singers,  and  inquired  about  him. 
They  knew  him,  and  promised  to  bring  him  to  me  on  the 
Lung'  Arno  at  nine  o'clock.  Punctual  to  the  moment  I 
appeared  at  the  place  of  meeting.  The  man  who  had 
promised  was  there  with  the  boy.  A  curious  crowd  stood 
around  them.  As  the  numbers  increased,  I  beckoned  him 
aside  and  led  the  way  into  a  side  street  I  had  my  doubts 
as  to  whether  it  was  the  same  boy.  'As  soon  as  I  begin  to 
sing,'  he  said,  'you  will  be  convinced  that  I  am  the  same. 
Give  me  a  silver  piece  of  fifty  centimes  first.'  These  words 
were  spoken  in  a  glorious  voice,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  his  inmost  soul.  What  I  felt  when  he  began  to  sing 
is  beyond  all  words  ! 

"  I  wept,  I  trembled,  I  was  consumed  with  pure  delight. 
He  sang  once  more,  '  Perche  tradirmi,  perche  lasciarmi ! ' 
I  do  not  remember  any  simple  folksong  ever  having  made 
such  an  impression  upon  me.  This  time  the  lad  sang  me 
a  charming  new  melody,  which  I  intend  to  make  him  sing 
again,  so  that  I  may  write  it  down  for  my  own  use  on 
some  future  occasion.  I  pitied  this  child.  He  seems  to  be 
exploited  by  his  father  and  other  relatives.  Just  now, 
during  the  Carnival,  he  is  made  to  sing  from  morning  till 
night,  and  will  continue  to  do  so  until  his  voice  vanishes 
for  good  and  all.  ...  If  he  belonged  to  a  respectable 
family  he  might  have  some  chance  of  becoming  a  great 
artist.  One  must  live  for  a  time  with  Italians  in  order  to 
understand  their  supremacy  in  vocal  art.  Even  as  I  write, 
I  can  hear  in  the  distance  a  wonderful  tenor  singing  some 
song  with  all  his  might.  But  even  when  the  quality  of 
the  voice  is  not  beautiful,  every  Italian  can  boast  that  he  is 
a  singer  by  nature.  They  all  have  a  true  emission  (pro- 


280  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

duction),  and  sing  from  their  chests,  not  from  their  throats 
and  noses  as  we  do." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  $rd  (15^),  1878. 

"  I  have  been  very  much  occupied  with  music  the  last 
few  days,  as  the  weather  has  made  going  out  impossible. 
To-day  I  played  nearly  all  day  with  Kotek.  Do  you 
know  the  Symphonie  Espagnole,  by  the  French  composer, 
Lalo  ?  The  piece  has  been  recently  brought  out  by  that 
very  modern  violinist,  Sarasate.  It  is  for  solo  violin  and 
orchestra,  and  consists  of  five  independent  movements,  based 
upon  Spanish  folksongs.  The  work  has  given  me  great 
enjoyment.  It  is  so  fresh  and  light,  and  contains  piquant 
rhythms  and  melodies  which  are  beautifully  harmonised. 
It  resembles  many  other  works  of  the  modern  French 
school  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  Like  Leo  Delibes 
and  Bizet,  Lalo  is  careful  to  avoid  all  that  is  routinier, 
seeks  new  forms  without  trying  to  be  profound,  and  is 
more  concerned  with  musical  beauty  than  with  tradition, 
as  are  the  Germans.  The  young  generation  of  French 
composers  is  really  very  promising." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  $th  (17^),  1878. 

"It  is  delightful  to  talk  to  you  about  my  own  methods 
of  composition.  So  far  I  have  never  had  any  opportunity 
of  confiding  to  anyone  these  hidden  utterances  of  my 
inner  life ;  partly  because  very  few  would  be  interested, 
and  partly  because,  of  these  few,  scarcely  one  would  know 
how  to  respond  to  me  properly.  To  you,  and  you  alone, 
I  gladly  describe  all  the  details  of  the  creative  process, 
because  in  you  I  have  found  one  who  has  a  fine  feeling 
and  can  understand  my  music. 

"Do  not  believe  those  who  try  to  persuade  you  that 
composition  is  only  a  cold  exercise  of  the  intellect.  The 
only  music  capable  of  moving  and  touching  us  is  that 
which  flows  from  the  depths  of  a  composer's  soul  when  he 
is  stirred  by  inspiration.  There  is  no  doubt  that  even  the 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  281 

greatest  musical  geniuses  have  sometimes  worked  without 
inspiration.  This  guest  does  not  always  respond  to  the 
first  invitation.  We  must  always  work,  and  a  self-respect- 
ing artist  must  not  fold  his  hands  on  the  pretext  that  he 
is  not  in  the  mood.  If  we  wait  for  the  mood,  without 
endeavouring  to  meet  it  half-way,  we  easily  become 
indolent  and  apathetic.  We  must  be  patient,  and  believe 
that  inspiration  will  come  to  those  who  can  master  their 
disinclination.  A  few  days  ago  I  told  you  I  was  working 
every  day  without  any  real  inspiration.  Had  I  given  way 
to  my  disinclination,  undoubtedly  I  should  have  drifted 
into  a  long  period  of  idleness.  But  my  patience  and  faith 
did  not  fail  me,  and  to-day  I  felt  that  inexplicable  glow 
of  inspiration  of  which  I  told  you ;  thanks  to  which 
I  know  beforehand  that  whatever  I  write  to-day  will  have 
power  to  make  an  impression,  and  to  touch  the  hearts  of 
those  who  hear  it.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  am  in- 
dulging in  self-laudation,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  very  seldom 
suffer  from  this  disinclination  to  work.  I  believe  the 
reason  for  this  is  that  I  am  naturally  patient.  I  have 
learnt  to  master  myself,  and  I  am  glad  I  have  not  followed 
in  the  steps  of  some  of  my  Russian  colleagues,  who 
have  no  self-confidence  and  are  so  impatient  that  at  the 
least  difficulty  they  are  ready  to  throw  up  the  sponge. 
This  is  why,  in  spite  of  great  gifts,  they  accomplish  so 
little,  and  that  in  an  amateur  way. 

You  ask  me  how  I  manage  my  instrumentation.  I  never 
compose  in  the  abstract ;  that  is  to  say,  the  musical  thought 
never  appears  otherwise  than  in  a  suitable  external  form. 
In  this  way  I  invent  the  musical  idea  and  the  instrumenta- 
tion simultaneously.  Thus  I  thought  out  the  scherzo  of 
our  symphony — at  the  moment  of  its  composition — exactly 
as  you  heard  it.  It  is  inconceivable  except  as  pizzicato. 
Were  it  played  with  the  bow,  it  would  lose  all  its  charm 
and  be  a  mere  body  without  a  soul. 

As  regards  the  Russian  element  in  my  works,  I  may 
tell  you  that  not  infrequently  I  begin  a  composition  with 
the  intention  of  introducing  some  folk-melody  into  it. 
Sometimes  it  comes  of  its  own  accord,  unintentionally  (as 
in  the  finale  of  our  symphony).  As  to  this  national  ele- 
ment in  my  work,  its  affinity  with  the  folksongs  in  some  of 


282  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

my  melodies  and  harmonies  proceeds  from  my  having 
spent  my  childhood  in  the  country,  and  having,  from  my 
earliest  years,  been  impregnated  with  the  characteristic 
beauty  of  our  Russian  folk-music.  I  am  passionately  fond 
of  the  national  element  in  all  its  varied  expressions.  In  a 
word,  I  am  Russian  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  >]th  (19^),  1872. 

"  The  wintry  weather  still  continues.  To-day  it  has 
never  ceased  snowing.  However,  I  am  not  at  all  bored, 
and  time  passes  very  quickly  while  I  am  at  work.  The 
sonata  and  concerto  interest  me  greatly.  For  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  have  begun  to  work  at  a  new  piece  before 
finishing  the  one  on  hand.  Hitherto  I  have  invariably- 
followed  the  rule  not  to  take  up  a  new  composition  until 
the  old  was  completed.  This  time  I  could  not  resist  the 
pleasure  of  sketching  out  the  concerto,  and  allowed  myself 
to  be  so  carried  away  that  the  sonata  has  been  set  aside ; 
but  I  return  to  it  at  intervals. 

"  I  have  read  the  two  volumes  of  Russian  Antiquities 
with  delight.  As  they  were  already  cut,  I  conclude  you 
have  read  them  yourself. 

"Do  you  not  think,  dear  friend,  that  Serov's  letters  are 
extremely  interesting  ?  At  least  I  find  them  so,  because  I 
well  remember  the  period  to  which  the  correspondence 
belongs.  I  made  Serov's  acquaintance  just  at  the  moment 
when  Judith^  was  first  performed,  and  I  attended  many 
of  the  rehearsals.  The  work  roused  my  enthusiasm  at  the 
time,  and  Serov  seemed  to  me  a  genius.  Afterwards  I  was 
bitterly  disappointed  in  him,  not  only  as  a  man,  but  as  a 
composer.  His  personality  was  never  very  sympathetic  to 
me.  His  petty  vanity  and  self-adoration,  which  often 
showed  themselves  in  the  most  na'fve  way,  were  repugnant 
and  incomprehensible  in  so  gifted  and  clever  a  man.  For 
he  was  remarkably  clever  in  spite  of  his  small-minded 
egotism. 

"All  the  same,  he  was  an  interesting  personality.  At 
the  age  of  forty-three  he  had  not  composed  anything  at  all ; 

1  Serov's  first  opera. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  283 

he  had  made  some  attempts,  but  was  either  inflated  by  his 
self-admiration,  or  else  he  entirely  lost  heart  Finally, 
after  twenty-five  years  of  irresolution,  he  set  to  work  upon 
Judith,  and  astonished  the  world,  which  expected  from 
him  a  dull  and  pretentious  work,  in  the  style  of  Grand 
Opera.  It  was  supposed  that  a  man  who  had  reached 
maturity  without  having  produced  a  single  composition 
could  not  be  greatly  gifted.  But  the  world  was  wrong. 
The  novice  of  forty-three  presented  the  public  of  St.  Peters- 
burg with  an  opera  which,  in  every  respect,  must  be 
described  as  beautiful,  and  shows  no  indications  whatever  of 
being  the  composer's  first  work.  I  do  not  know  whether 
you  have  heard  Judith,  dear  friend ;  the  opera  has  many 
good  points.  It  is  written  with  unusual  warmth,  and  some- 
times rises  to  great  emotional  heights.  It  had  considerable 
success  with  the  public,  and  was  extraordinarily  well  re- 
ceived by  musical  circles,  especially  by  the  younger  genera- 
tion. Serov,  who  had  hitherto  been  unknown,  and  led 
a  very  humble  life,  in  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  fight 
poverty,  became  suddenly  the  hero  of  the  hour,  the  idol  of 
a  certain  set,  in  fact,  a  celebrity.  This  unexpected  success 
turned  his  head,  and  he  began  to  regard  himself  as  a 
genius.  The  childishness  with  which  he  sings  his  own 
praises  in  his  letters  is  quite  remarkable.  Never  before 
was  there  such  originality  of  style,  or  such  beauty  of 
melody.  And  Serov  actually  had  proved  himself  a  gifted 
composer,  but  not  a  genius  of  the  first  order.  His  second 
opera,  Rogneda,  is  already  a  falling  off  from  the  first. 
Here  he  is  evidently  striving  for  effect,  frequently  degener- 
ates into  the  commonplace,  and  attempts  to  impress  the 
gallery  by  coarse  and  startling  effects.  This  is  all  the 
more  remarkable  because,  as  a  true  Wagnerian,  he  inveighed 
in  speech  and  in  writing  against  Meyerbeer's  vulgar  and 
flashy  style.  The  Power  of  the  Evil  One  is  still  weaker. 
Serov  is,  in  reality,  a  very  peculiar  and  interesting  musical 
phenomenon.  If  we  consider  his  voluminous  critical 
articles,  we  shall  observe  that  his  practice  does  not  agree 
with  his  principles ;  he  composes  his  music  on  methods 
diametrically  opposed  to  those  which  he  advocates  in  his 
writings.  I  have  held  forth  at  length  upon  Serov,  because 
I  am  still  under  the  influence  of  his  letters,  which  I  read 


284  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

yesterday,  and  all  day  to-day  I  can  think  of  nothing  else. 
I  recall  the  arrogance  with  which  he  behaved  to  me,  and 
how  I  longed  for  his  recognition.  Now  I  know  that  this 
very  clever  and  highly  cultured  man  possessed  one  weak- 
ness :  he  could  not  appreciate  anyone  but  himself.  He 
disparaged  the  success  of  others  ;  detested  those  who  had 
become  famous  in  his  own  art,  and  frequently  gave  way  to 
impulses  of  small-minded  egotism.  On  the  other  hand, 
one  forgave  him  all,  on  account  of  what  he  suffered  before 
success  raised  him  from  poverty,  and  because  he  bore  his 
troubles  in  a  strong,  manly  spirit  for  love  of  his  art.  Hav- 
ing regard  to  his  birth,  education,  and  connections,  he 
might  have  had  a  brilliant  career,  but  his  love  for  music 
won  the  day.  How  painful  it  was  to  me  to  learn  from  his 
letters  that  he  met  with  neither  support  nor  encouragement 
at  home  but,  on  the  contrary,  with  derision,  mistrust,  and 
hostility ! 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you,  my  dear,  for  the 
collection  of  poems  you  have  sent  me.  I  am  particularly 
delighted  with  those  of  A.  Tolstoi,  of  whom  I  am  very 
fond,  and — apart  from  my  intention  to  use  some  of  his 
words  for  songs — it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  read  a  few 
of  his  .longer  poems  again.  I  am  specially  interested  in 
his  Don  Juan,  which  I  read  long  ago." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  \^th  (26^),  1878. 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  the  newspapers,  and  am 
thoroughly  depressed.  Undoubtedly  a  war  is  imminent. 
It  is  terrible.  It  seems  to  me  that  now  I  am  no  longer 
absorbed  in  my  personal  troubles,  I  feel  far  more  keenly  all 
the  wounds  inflicted  upon  our  Fatherland,  although  I  have 
no  doubt  that  in  the  end  Russia — indeed,  the  whole 
Slavonic  world — will  triumph,  if  only  because  we  have 
truth  and  honour  on  our  side.  I  am  glad  I  shall  be  in 
Russia  during  the  war.  How  many  unpleasant  moments 
have  I  endured  abroad,  seeing  the  satisfaction  {Schaden- 
freude} which  greeted  the  news  of  every  small  misfortune 
that  befell  us,  and  the  ill-feeling  which  was  provoked 
by  any  victory  on  our  part !  Let  us  hope  our  cup  of 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  285 

bitterness  may  pass  from  us.  There  are  good  men  to  be 
found  among  us  in  every  walk  of  life — with  one  excep- 
tion. I  am  now  speaking  of  my  own  special  line. 
Whether  the  '(Moscow)  Conservatoire  was  somewhat  too 
forcibly  planted  upon  Muscovite  soil  by  the  despotic  hand 
of  N.  Rubinstein,  or  whether  the  Russian  intellect  is  not 
made  to  grasp  the  theory  of  music,  it  is  certain  that  there 
is  nothing  more  difficult  than  to  find  a  good  teacher  of 
harmony.  I  have  come  to  this  conclusion  because — in 
spite  of  the  low  valuation  I  set  upon  my  teaching  capacities, 
in  spite,  too,  of  my  loathing  for  a  professor's  work — I  am 
indispensable  to  the  Conservatoire.  If  I  resigned  my 
post,  it  would  be  hardly  possible  to  find  anyone  to  take 
my  place.  This  is  the  reason  why  I  hold  it  to  be  my  duty 
to  remain  there  until  I  feel  sure  the  institution  would  not 
suffer  from  my  departure.  I  am  telling  you  all  this,  my 
dear,  because  I  have  been  constantly  wondering  of  late 
whether  it  might  not  be  possible  to  slip  this  heavy  load 
from  my  shoulders. 

"  How  unpleasant  teaching  will  be  after  these  months  of 
freedom  !  I  can  give  you  no  adequate  idea  how  derogatory 
this  kind  of  work  can  be  to  a  man  who  has  not  the  smallest 
vocation  for  it.  Among  the  male  students  I  have  to  deal 
with  a  considerable  number  of  raw  youths  who  intend, 
however,  to  make  music  their  profession  :  violinists,  horn- 
players,  teachers,  and  so  on.  Although  it  is  very  hard  to 
have  to  explain  to  such  lads,  for  twelve  consecutive  years, 
that  a  triad  consists  of  a  third  and  fifth,  I  feel  at  least  that 
I  am  instilling  into  them  some  indispensable  knowledge. 
Here,  at  any  rate,  I  am  of  some  use.  But  the  ladies' 
classes  !  O  Lord  !  Out  of  the  sixty  or  seventy  girls  who 
attend  my  harmony  lessons  there  are,  at  the  utmost,  five 
who  will  really  turn  out  musicians.  All  the  rest  come  to 
the  Conservatoire  simply  for  occupation,  or  from  motives 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  music.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  these  young  ladies  are  less  intelligent,  or  industrious, 
than  the  men.  Rather  the  reverse ;  the  women  are  more 
conscientious  and  make  greater  efforts.  They  take  in  a  new 
rule  far  quicker — but  only  up  to  a  certain  point.  Directly 
this  rule  ceases  to  be  applied  mechanically,  and  it  becomes 
a  question  of  initiative,  all  these  young  women,  although 


286  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

inspired  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  come  hope- 
lessly to  grief.  I  often  lose  my  patience  and  my  head, 
forget  all  that  is  going  on,  and  go  into  a  frantic  rage,  as 
much  with  myself  as  with  them.  I  think  a  more  patient 
teacher  might  produce  better  results.  What  makes  one 
despair  is  the  thought  that  it  is  all  to  no  purpose :  a  mere 
farce !  Out  of  the  crowd  of  girls  I  have  taught  in  the 
Conservatoire  only  a  very  small  number  came  to  the 
classes  with  a  serious  aim  in  view.  For  how  few  of  them 
is  it  worth  while  to  torment  and  exhaust  myself,  to  wear 
myself  to  thread-paper !  For  how  few  is  my  teaching 
of  any  real  importance !  There  are  many  other  unpleasant 
aspects  of  my  work. 

"And  yet  I  am  bound  to  continue  it.  I  am  delighted  at 
what  you  tell  me  about  my  pupils'  sympathy.  I  always 
feel  they  must  hate  me  for  my  irritability,  which  sometimes 
overstepped  the  bounds  of  reason;  as  well  as  for  my 
scolding  and  eternal  discontent.  I  was  very  glad  to  be 
convinced  of  the  contrary." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"CLARENS,  March  \$th  (27  th),  1878. 

"...  The  violin  concerto  is  rapidly  nearing  completion. 
I  hit  upon  the  idea  quite  accidentally,  began  to  work  at  it, 
was  completely  carried  away,  and  now  the  sketch  is  all  but 
finished.  Altogether  a  considerable  number  of  new  com- 
positions are  hanging  over  your  head :  seven  little  pieces, 
two  songs,  and  a  pianoforte  sonata  which  I  have  begun. 
By  the  end  of  the  summer  I  shall  have  to  engage  a  railway 
truck  to  convey  them  all  to  you.  I  can  hear  your  energetic 
expletive  :  '  The  devil  take  you  ! ' " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  \6th  (28^),  1878. 

"Yesterday  I  received  your  letter  with  the  news  of 
Rubinstein's  concert.  I  am  so  glad  you  were  pleased  with 
my  concerto.  I  was  convinced  from  the  first  that  Nicholas 
Grigorievich  would  play  it  splendidly.  The  work  was 
originally  intended  for  him,  and  took  into  consideration 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  287 

his  immense  virtuosity.  It  is  good  to  see  from  your  letter 
how  attentively  you  follow  every  new  musical  event. 
Hardly  has  a  new  concerto  by  Max  Bruch  appeared 
than  you  know  all  about  it.  I  do  not  know  it  yet;  nor 
the  concerto  by  Goldmark  which  you  mention.  I  only 
know  one  of  his  orchestral  works,  the  overture  to  Sakun- 
tala,  and  a  quartet.  Both  compositions  are  clever  and 
sympathetic.  Goldmark  is  one  of  the  few  German  com- 
posers who  possess  some  originality  and  freshness  of 
invention. 

"  Why  do  you  not  care  for  Mozart  ?  In  this  respect  our 
opinions  differ,  dear  friend.  I  not  only  like  Mozart,  I 
idolise  him.  To  me  the  most  beautiful  opera  ever  written 
is  Don  Juan.  You,  who  possess  such  a  fine  musical  taste, 
must  surely  love  this  pure  and  ideal  artist.  It  is  true 
Mozart  used  up  his  forces  too  generously,  and  often  wrote 
without  inspiration,  because  he  was  compelled  by  want. 
But  read  his  biography  by  Otto  Jahn,  and  you  will  see 
that  he  could  not  help  it.  Even  Bach  and  Beethoven 
have  left  a  considerable  number  of  inferior  works  which 
are  not  worthy  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  same  breath  as 
their  masterpieces.  Fate  compelled  them  occasionally 
to  degrade  their  art  to  the  level  of  a  handicraft.  But 
think  of  Mozart's  operas,  of  two  or  three  of  his  sym- 
phonies, his  Requiem,  the  six  quartets  dedicated  to  Haydn, 
and  the  D  minor  string  quintet.  Do  you  feel  no  charm 
in  these  works  ?  True,  Mozart  reaches  neither  the  depths 
nor  heights  of  Beethoven.  And  since  in  life,  too,  he 
remained  to  the  end  of  his  days  a  careless  child,  his 
music  has  not  that  subjectively  tragic  quality  which  is  so 
powerfully  expressed  in  that  of  Beethoven.  But  this  did 
not  prevent  him  from  creating  an  objectively  tragic  type, 
the  most  superb  and  wonderful  human  presentment  ever 
depicted  in  music.  I  mean  Donna  Anna,  in  Don  Juan. 
Ah,  how  difficult  it  is  to  make  anyone  else  see  and  feel 
in  music  what  we  see  and  feel  ourselves !  I  am  quite  in- 
capable of  describing  to  you  what  I  felt  on  hearing  Don 
Juan,  especially  in  the  scene  where  the  noble  figure  of  the 
beautiful,  proud,  revengeful  woman  appears  on  the  stage. 
Nothing  in  any  opera  ever  impressed  me  so  profoundly. 
And  afterwards,  when  Donna  Anna  recognises  in  Don 


288  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

Juan  the  man  who  has  wounded  her  pride  and  killed  her 
father,  and  her  wrath  breaks  out  like  a  rushing  torrent  in 
that  wonderful  recitative,  or  in  that  later  aria,  in  which 
every  note  in  the  orchestra  seems  to  speak  of  her  wrath 
and  pride  and  actually  to  quiver  with  horror — I  could  cry 
out  and  weep  under  the  overwhelming  stress  of  the  emo- 
tional impression.  And  her  lament  over  her  father's 
corpse,  the  duet  with  Don  Ottavio,  in  which  she  vows 
vengeance,  her  arioso  in  the  great  sextet  in  the  churchyard 
— these  are  inimitable,  colossal  operatic  scenes  ! 

"  I  am  so  much  in  love  with  the  music  of  Don  Juan  that 
even  as  I  write  to  you  I  could  shed  tears  of  agitation  and 
emotion.  In  his  chamber  music,  Mozart  charms  me  by  his 
purity  and  distinction  of  style  and  his  exquisite  handling  of 
the  parts.  Here,  too,  are  things  which  can  bring  tears  to 
our  eyes.  I  will  only  mention  the  adagio  of  the  D  minor 
string  quintet.  No  one  else  has  ever  known  as  well  how 
to  interpret  so  exquisitely  in  music  the  sense  of  resigned 
and  inconsolable  sorrow.  Every  time  Laub  played  the 
adagio  I  had  to  hide  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  concert- 
room,  so  that  others  might  not  see  how  deeply  this  music 
affected  me.  .  .  . 

"  I  could  go  on  to  eternity  holding  forth  to  you  upon 
this  sunny  genius,  for  whom  I  cherish  a  cult.  Although  I 
am  very  tolerant  to  other  people's  musical  views,  I  must 
confess,  my  dear,  that  I  should  like  very  much  to  convert 
you  to  Mozart.  I  know  that  would  be  difficult.  I  have  met 
one  or  two  others,  besides  yourself,  who  have  a  fine  feeling 
for  music,  yet  nevertheless  failed  to  appreciate  Mozart.  I 
should  have  tried  in  vain  to  make  them  discover  the 
beauties  of  his  music.  Our  musical  sympathies  are  often 
affected  by  purely  external  circumstances.  The  music  of 
Don  Juan  was  the  first  which  stirred  me  profoundly.  It 
roused  in  me  a  divine  enthusiasm  which  was  not  without 
after-results.  Through  its  medium  I  was  transplanted  to 
that  region  of  artistic  beauty  where  only  genius  dwells. 
Previously  I  had  only  known  the  Italian  opera.  It  is 
thanks  to  Mozart  that  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  music. 
All  these  things  have  probably  played  a  part  in  my 
exclusive  love  for  him — and  perhaps  it  is  foolish  of  me 
to  expect  those  who  are  dear  to  me  to  feel  towards  Mozart 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  289 

as  I  do.  But  if  I  could  do  anything  to  change  your 
opinion — it  would  make  me  very  happy.  If  ever  you  tell 
me  that  you  have  been  touched  by  the  adagio  of  the 
D  minor  quintet  I  shall  rejoice." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  March  igth  (^ist),  1878. 

"...  You  need  not  be  troubled  about  my  fame  abroad, 
my  dear.  If  I  am  destined  ever  to  acquire  such  fame,  it 
will  come  of  its  own  accord,  although  in  all  probability  not 
while  I  am  alive  to  see  it.  When  you  come  to  think  that 
during  my  many  trips  abroad  I  have  never  called  on  in- 
fluential people,  or  sent  them  my  compositions,  that  I 
have  never  pushed  my  reputation  in  other  countries,  we 
must  be  satisfied  with  any  little  success  which  my  works 
may  win.  Do  you  know,  all  my  pianoforte  compositions 
are  reprinted  in  Leipzig,  and  my  songs  also,  with  trans- 
lations of  the  words?  My  principal  works  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  operas)  can  be  procured  without  difficulty 
in  most  of  the  large  towns  of  France,  Germany,  and  Eng- 
land. I  myself  bought  my  Third  Symphony,  arranged  for 
four  hands,  and  my  Third  Quartet,  in  Vienna.  I  have  even 
come  across  some  transcriptions  hitherto  unknown  to  me : 
the  Barcarole  for  piano  (Op.  370)  arranged  for  violin  and 
piano,  the  andante  from  the  First  Quartet  for  flute. 
Brandus,  in  Paris,  keeps  all  my  works  in  stock.  There  are 
many  reasons  why  my  symphonic  works  are  so  seldom 
heard  of  abroad.  In  the  first  place  I  am  a  Russian,  and  con- 
sequently looked  upon  with  prejudice  by  every  Western 
European.  Secondly — also  because  I  am  a  Russian — 
there  is  something  exotic  in  my  music  which  makes  it  in- 
accessible to  foreigners.  My  overture  to  Romeo  and 
Juliet  has  been  played  in  every  capital,  but  always  with- 
out success.  In  Vienna  and  Paris  it  was  hissed.  A  short 
time  ago  it  met  with  no  better  reception  in  Dresden.  In 
some  other  towns  (London  and  Hamburg)  it  was  more 
fortunate,  but,  all  the  same,  my  music  has  not  been  included 
in  the  standard  repertory  of  Germany  and  other  countries. 
Among  musical  circles  abroad  my  name  is  not  unknown. 
A  few  men  have  been  specially  interested  in  me,  and 


290  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

taken  some  pains  to  include  my  works  in  their  concert 
programmes ;  but  have  generally  met  with  insurmountable 
obstacles.  For  instance,  Hans  Richter,  the  Bayreuth  con- 
ductor. In  spite  of  all  protests,  he  put  my  overture  into 
the  programme  of  one  of  the  eight  Philharmonic  concerts 
which  he  conducts  in  Vienna.  Disregarding  its  failure,  he 
wished  this  season  to  do  my  Third  Symphony ;  but  after  one 
rehearsal  the  directors  of  the  Philharmonic  pronounced  the 
work  'too  Russian/  and  it  was  unanimously  rejected.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  I  could  do  a  great  deal  to  spread  my  works 
abroad  if  I  went  the  round  of  all  the  European  capitals, 
calling  upon  the  'big  wigs/  and  displaying  my  wares  to 
them.  But  I  would  rather  abandon  every  joy  in  life. 
Good  Lord !  what  one  must  undergo,  what  wounds  to  one's 
self-respect  one  must  be  prepared  to  receive  before  one  can 
catch  the  attention  of  these  gentlemen !  I  will  give  you  an 
instance.  Supposing  I  wanted  to  become  known  in  Vienna: 
Brahms  is  the  musical  lion  of  Vienna.  Consequently,  I 
should  have  to  pay  my  respects  to  him.  Brahms,  the 
celebrity — and  I,  the  unknown  composer.  I  may  tell  you, 
however,  without  false  modesty,  that  I  place  myself  a  good 
deal  higher  than  Brahms.  What  could  I  say  to  him  ?  If 
I  were  an  honourable  and  sincere  man  I  should  have  to  say 
something  of  this  kind :  '  Herr  Brahms,  I  regard  you  as  an 
uninspired  and  pretentious  composer,  without  any  creative 
genius  whatever.  I  do  not  rate  you  very  highly,  and  look 
down  upon  you  with  disdain.  But  you  could  be  of  some 
use  to  me,  so  I  have  come  to  call  upon  you.'  But  if  I  were 
a  dishonest  man,  then  I  should  say  exactly  the  opposite. 
I  cannot  adopt  either  course. 

"  I  need  not  go  into  further  details.  You  alone — with  the 
exception  of  my  brothers — can  fully  enter  into  my  feelings. 
My  friends  in  Moscow  cannot  reconcile  themselves  to  my 
having  declined  to  act  as  delegate  in  Paris.  They  cannot 
believe  that  my  association  with  such  distinguished  names 
as  Liszt  (who  represents  Hungary)  and  Verdi  would  not 
do  much  to  promote  my  reputation.  My  dear  friend,  I  have 
the  reputation  of  being  modest.  But  I  will  confess  to  you 
that  my  modesty  is  nothing  less  than  a  secret,  but  immense, 
amour  propre.  Among  all  living  musicians  there  is  not  one 
before  whom  I  would  willingly  lower  my  crest.  At  the 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  291 

same  time,  Nature,  who  endowed  me  with  such  pride, 
denied  me  the  capacity  for  showing  off  my  wares.  Je  ne 
sais  pas  me  faire  valoir.  I  do  not  know  how  to  meet  fame 
half-way  on  my  own  initiative,  and  prefer  to  wait  until 
it  comes  to  me  unsought.  I  have  long  since  resigned 
myself  to  the  belief  that  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  general 
recognition  of  my  talents. 

"  You  speak  of  Anton  Rubinstein.  How  can  I  compare 
myself  to  him  ?  He  is  at  present  the  greatest  pianist  in 
the  world.  He  combines  the  personalities  of  a  remarkable 
virtuoso  and  a  gifted  composer,  so  that  the  latter  is  borne 
as  it  were  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  former.  In  my  life- 
time I  shall  never  attain  to  a  tenth  part  of  what  he  has 
accomplished.  Now  we  are  on  the  subject  of  Rubinstein, 
let  me  tell  you  this  :  as  my  teacher,  he  knew  my  musical 
temperament  better  than  anyone  else,  so  that  he  might 
have  done  much  to  further  my  reputation  abroad.  Un- 
fortunately, this  'great  light'  has  always  treated  me  with  a 
loftiness  bordering  on  contempt.  No  one  has  inflicted 
such  cruel  wounds  upon  my  self-esteem  as  Rubinstein. 
Externally,  he  has  always  been  amiable  and  friendly.  But 
beneath  this  friendly  manner  he  showed  plainly  that  he 
did  not  think  me  worth  a  brass  farthing !  The  one  '  big 
wig'  who  has  always  been  most  kindly  disposed  towards 
me  is  Billow.  Unluckily,  he  has  been  forced  almost  to 
abandon  his  musical  career  on  account  of  ill-health,  and 
cannot  therefore  do  much  more  on  my  behalf.  Thanks  to 
him,  I  am  well  known  in  England  and  America.  I  have  a 
number  of  Press  notices  relating  to  myself  which  appeared 
in  these  countries,  and  were  sent  to  me  by  Biilow. 

"  You  need  not  worry  yourself,  my  dear.  If  fame  is 
destined  for  me,  it  will  come  with  slow  but  sure  steps. 
History  convinces  us  that  the  success  which  is  long  delayed 
is  often  more  lasting  than  when  it  comes  easily  and  at 
a  bound.  Many  a  name  which  resounded  through  its  own 
generation  is  now  engulfed  in  the  ocean  of  oblivion.  An 
artist  should  not  be  troubled  by  the  indifference  of  his 
contemporaries.  He  should  go  on  working  and  say  all 
he  has  been  predestined  to  say.  He  should  know  that 
posterity  alone  can  deliver  a  true  and  just  verdict.  I  will 
tell  you  something  more.  Perhaps  I  accept  my  modest 


292  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

share  with  so  little  complaint  because  my  faith  in  the 
judgment  of  the  future  is  immovable.  I  have  a  foretaste 
during  my  lifetime  of  the  fame  which  will  be  meted  out 
to  me  when  the  history  of  Russian  music  comes  to  be 
written.  For  the  present  I  am  satisfied  with  what  I  have 
already  acquired.  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  I  have 
met  people  on  my  way  through  life  whose  warm  sympathy 
for  my  music  more  than  compensates  me  for  the  indiffer- 
ence, misunderstanding,  and  ill-will  of  others." 


VII 

From  S.  I.  Taneiev  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"March  i&tA  (30^),  1878. 

"...  The  jirst  jnovemejit  of  your  Fourth  Symphony  is 
disproportionately  long  in  comparison  with  thlTnfHers;;  it 
seems  to  me  a  symphonic  poem,  to  which  the  three  other 
movements  are  added  "fortuitously.  The  fanfare  _  for 

trumpets  in  the  introduction,  which  is  repeated  in  other 
places,  the  frequent  change  of  tempo  in  the  tributary 
themes — all  this  makes  me  think  that  a  programme  is 
being  treated  here.  Otherwise  this  movement  pleases  me. 

But  the  rhythm  •  f  *  appears  too  often  and  becomes 
wearisome.  Lid 

"The  Andante  is  charming  (the  middle  does  not  par- 
ticularly please  me).  The  Scherzo  is  exquisite,  and  goes 
splendidly.  The  Trio  I  cannot  bear:  it  sounds  like  a  ballet 
movement. 

"Nicholas  Grigorievich  (Rubinstein)  likes  the  Finale  best, 
but  I  do  not  altogether  agree  with  him.  The  variations 
on  a  folksong  do  not  strike  me  as  very  important  or 
interesting. 

"  In  my  opinion  the  Symphony  has  one  defect,  to 
which  I  shall  never  be  reconciled  :  in  every  movement 
there  are  phrases  which  sound  like  _balleJt  music :  the 
middle  section  of  the  Andante,  the  Trio  of  the  Scherzo, 
and  a  kind  of  march  in  the  Finale.  Hearing  the  Sym- 
phony, my  inner  eye  sees  involuntarily  'our  prima 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  293 

ballerina,'  which  puts  me  out  of  humour  and  spoils  my 
pleasure  in  the  many  beauties  of  the  work. 

"  This  is  my  candid  opinion.  Perhaps  I  have  expressed 
it  somewhat  freely,  but  do  not  be  hurt.  It  is  not  surprising 
that  the  Symphony  does  not  entirely  please  me.  Had  you 
not  sent  Eugene  Oniegin  at  the  same  time,  perhaps  it 
might  have  satisfied  me.  It  is  your  own  fault.  Why  have 
you  composed  such  an  opera,  which  has  no  parallel  in  the 
world  ?  Oniegin  has  given  me  such  pleasure  that  I  cannot 
find  words  to  express  it.  A  splendid  opera !  And  yet 
you  say  you  want  to  give  up  composing.  You  have  never 
done  so  well.  Rejoice  that  you  have  attained  such  per- 
fection, and  profit  by  it." 

Tchaikovsky  to  Taneiev. 
"CLARENS,  March  21  th  (April  Wi),  1878. 
"  DEAR  SERGE, — I  have  read  your  letter  with  the 
greatest  pleasure  and  interest.  .  .  .  You  need  not  be  afraid 
that  your  criticism  of  my  Fourth  Symphony  is  too  severe. 
You  have  simply  given  me  your  frank  opinion,  for  which  I 
am  grateful.  I  want  these  kind  of  opinions,  not  choruses 
of  praise.  At  the  same  time  many  things  in  your  letter 
astonished  me.  I  have  no  idea  what  you  consider  *  ballet 
music/  or  why  you  should  object  to  it.  Do  you  regard 
every  melody  in  a  lively  dance-rhythm  as  '  ballet  music '  ? 
In  that  case  how  can  you  reconcile  yourself  to  the  majority 
of  Beethoven's  symphonies,  for  in  them  you  will  find 
similar  melodies  on  every  page  ?  Or  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  the  Trio  of  my  Scherzo  is  in  the  style  of  Minkus, 
Gerber,  or  Pugni  ?  It  does  not,  to  my  mind,  deserve  such 
criticism.  I  never  can  understand  why  'ballet  music' 
should  be  used  as  a  contemptuous  epiphet.  The  music  of 
a  ballet  is  not  invariably  bad,  there  are  good  works  of  this 
class — Delibes'  Sylvia,  for  instance.  And  when  the  music 
is  good,  what  difference  does  it  make  whether  the  Sobiesi- 
chanskaya x  dances  to  it  or  not  ?  I  can  only  say  that 
certain  portions  of  my  Symphony  do  not  please  you 
because  they  recall  the  ballet ',  not  because  they  are  intrin- 
sically bad.  You  may  be  right,  but  I  do  not  see  why 

1  Prima  ballerina  of  the  Moscow  Opera. 


294  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

dance  tunes  should  not  be  employed  episodically  in  a 
symphony,  even  with  the  avowed  intention  of  giving 
a  touch  of  coarse,  everyday  humour.  Again  I  appeal  to 
Beethoven,  who  frequently  had  recourse  to  similar  effects. 
I  must  add  that  I  have  racked  my  brains  in  vain  to  recall 
in  what  part  of  the  Allegro  you  can  possibly  have  dis- 
covered '  ballet  music.'  It  remains  an  enigma.  With  all 
that  you  say  as  to  my  Symphony  having  a  programme, 
I  am  quite  in  agreement.  But  I  do  not  see  why  this 
should  be  a  mistake.  I  am  far  more  afraid  of  the  contrary  ; 
I  do  not  wish  any  symphonic  work  to  emanate  from  me 
which  has  nothing  to  express,  and  consists  merely  of 
harmonies  and  a  purposeless  design  of  rhythms  and  modu- 
lations. Of  course,  my  Symphony  is  programme  music,  but 
it  would  be  impossible  to  give  the  programme  in  words;  it 
would  appear  ludicrous  and  only  raise  a  smile.  Ought  not 
this  to  be  the  case  with  a  symphony  which  is  the  most 
lyrical  of  all  musical  forms  ?  Ought  it  not  to  express  all 
those  things  for  which  words  cannot  be  found,  which  never- 
theless arise  in  the  heart  and  clamour  for  expression? 
Besides,  I  must  tell  you  that  in  my  simplicity  I  imagined 
the  plan  of  my  Symphony  to  be  so  obvious  that  everyone 
would  understand  its  meaning,  or  at  least  its  leading  ideas, 
without  any  definite  programme.  Pray  do  not  imagine  I 
want  to  swagger  before  you  with  profound  emotions  and 
lofty  ideas.  Throughout  the  work  I  have  made  no  effort  to 
express  any  new  thought.  In  reality  my  work  is  a  reflec- 
tion of  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony  ;  I  have  not  copied 
his  musical  contents,  only  borrowed  the  central  idea. 
What  kind  of  a  programme  has  this  Fifth  Symphony,  do 
you  think  ?  Not  only  has  it  a  programme,  but  it  is  so 
clear  that  there  cannot  be  the  smallest  difference  of 
opinion  as  to  what  it  means.  Much  the  same  lies  at  the 
root  of  my  Symphony,  and  if  you  have  failed  to  grasp 
it,  it  simply  proves  that  I  am  no  Beethoven — on  which 
point  I  have  no  doubt  whatever.  Let  me  add  that  there  is 
not  a  single  bar  in  this  Fourth  Symphony  of  mine  which 
I  have  not  truly  felt,  and  which  is  not  an  echo  of  my  most 
intimate  spiritual  life.  The  only  exception  occurs  perhaps 
in  the  middle  section  of  the  first  movement,  in  which  there 
are  some  forced  passages,  some  things  which  are  laboured 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  295 

and  artificial.  I  know  you  will  laugh  as  you  read  these 
lines.  You  are  a  sceptic  and  a  mocking-bird.  In  spite  of 
your  great  love  of  music  you  do  not  seem  to  believe  that  a 
man  can  compose  from  his  inner  impulses.  Wait  awhile, 
you  too  will  join  the  ranks  !  Some  day,  perhaps  very  soon, 
you  will  compose,  not  because  others  ask  you  to  do  so,  but 
because  it  is  your  own  desire.  Only  then  will  the  seed 
which  can  bring  forth  a  splendid  harvest  fall  upon  the  rich 
soil  of  your  gifted  nature.  I  speak  the  truth,  if  somewhat 
grandiloquently.  Meanwhile  your  fields  are  waiting  for  the 
sower.  I  will  write  more  about  this  in  my  next.  There 
were  beautiful  details  in  your  score,  it  only  lacks  .  .  .  but 
I  will  not  forestall  matters.  In  my  next  letter  I  will  talk 
exclusively  of  yourself. 

"There  have  been  great  changes  in  my  life  since  I  wrote 
that  I  had  lost  all  hope  of  composing  any  more.  The 
devil  of  authorship  has  awoke  in  me  again  in  the  most 
unexpected  way. 

"  Please,  dear  Serge,  do  not  see  any  shadow  of  annoyance 
in  my  defence  of  the  Symphony ;  of  course  I  should  like 
you  to  be  pleased  with  everything  I  write,  but  I  am  quite 
satisfied  with  the  interest  you  always  show  me.  You  can- 
not think  how  delighted  I  am  with  your  approval  of 
Oniegin.  I  value  your  opinion  very  highly,  and  the  more 
frankly  you  express  it,  the  more  I  feel  its  worth.  And  so 
I  cordially  thank  you,  and  beg  you  not  to  be  afraid  of  over- 
severity.  I  want  just  those  stinging  criticisms  from  you. 
So  long  as  you  give  me  the  truth,  what  does  it  matter 
whether  it  is  favourable  or  not  ?  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  April  ist  (i$th\  1878. 

"...  It  is  very  early.  I  slept  badly,  and  after  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  to  doze  off  again,  I  got  up  and  came 
to  sit  near  the  window,  where  I  am  now  writing  to  you. 
What  a  wonderful  morning !  The  sky  is  absolutely  clear. 
A  few  little  harmless  clouds  are  floating  over  the  mountains 
on  either  side  the  lake.  From  the  garden  comes  the 
twitter  of  innumerable  birds.  The  Dent  du  Midi  is  clear 
of  mist,  and  glitters  in  the  sunlight  which  catches  its 


296  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

snow-clad  peaks.  The  lake  is  smooth  as  a  mirror.  How 
beautiful  it  all  is !  Does  it  not  seem  hard  that  the  fine 
weather  should  have  come  just  as  I  am  on  the  point  of 
departure  ? 

"  As  regards  Mozart,  let  me  add  these  words.  You  say 
my  worship  for  him  is  quite  contrary  to  my  musical  nature. 
But  perhaps  it  is  just  because — being  a  child  of  my  day — 
I  feel  broken  and  spiritually  out  of  joint,  that  I  find  con- 
solation and  rest  in  the  music  of  Mozart,  wherein  he  gives 
expression  to  that  joy  of  life  which  was  part  of  his  sane 
and  wholesome  temperament,  not  yet  undermined  by  re- 
flection. It  seems  to  me  that  an  artist's  creative  power  is 
something  quite  apart  from  his  sympathy  with  this  or  that 
great  master.  For  instance,  a  man  may  admire  Beethoven, 
and  yet  by  temperament  be  more  akin  to  Mendelssohn. 
Could  there  be  a  more  glaring  instance  of  inconsistency, 
for  instance,  than  Berlioz  the  composer  and  champion  of 
ultra-romanticism  in  music,  and  Berlioz  the  critic  and 
adorer  of  Gluck?  Perhaps  this  is  just  an  example  of  the 
attraction  which  makes  extremes  meet,  and  causes  a  big, 
strong  man  to  fall  in  love  with  a  tiny,  delicate  woman,  and 
vice  versa.  Do  you  know  that  Chopin  did  not  care  for 
Beethoven,  and  could  hardly  bear  to  hear  some  of  his 
works?  I  was  told  this  by  a  man  who  knew  him  per- 
sonally. At  any  rate,  I  will  conclude  by  saying  that 
dissimilarity  of  temperament  between  two  artists  is  no 
hindrance  to  their  mutual  sympathy." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"VIENNA,  April Zth  (20^),  1878. 

"...  My  next  letter  will  reach  you  from  Russia. 

"  I  was  surprised  to  find  the  spring  so  much  further 
advanced  in  Vienna  than  at  Clarens.  The  trees  there  had 
scarcely  begun  to  show  green,  while  here  there  is  a  look  of 
summer  already.  Vienna  is  so  bright  and  sunny  to-day, 
it  would  certainly  have  made  a  pleasant  impression  upon 
me  had  I  not  read  the  morning  papers,  which  are  full 
of  poisonous,  malicious,  and  abominable  slanders  about 
Russia.  The  Neue  Freie  Presse  takes  pains  to  inform 
its  readers  that  the  action  of  the  girl  who  fired  at  Trepov 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  297 

has  created  a  revolution  in  Russia,  that  the  Emperor  is  in 
peril,  and  must  flee  from  the  country,  etc.,  etc. 

"Now,  on  the  point  of  taking  leave  of  foreign  lands  and 
turning  my  face  homewards,  a  sound,  sane  man,  full  of 
renewed  strength  and  energy — let  me  thank  you  once 
again,  my  dear  and  invaluable  friend,  for  all  I  owe  you, 
which  I  can  never,  never  forget." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  April  \2th  (24^). 

"  At  last  we  have  arrived.  The  journey  was  long  and 
tedious  and  my  expectations  were  disappointed.  I  had 
always  thought  my  home-coming  would  fill  me  with  such 
sweet  and  profound  sentiments.  Nothing  of  the  kind !  A 
tipsy  policeman  who  would  hardly  let  us  pass  because  he 
could  not  grasp  that  the  number  of  passengers  on  my  pass- 
port corresponded  to  the  figure  on  his  own  ;  an  officer  of 
customs  who  demanded  duty  to  the  amount  of  fourteen 
gold  roubles  upon  a  dress  I  had  bought  for  my  sister  for 
seventy  francs ;  a  conversation  with  a  very  importunate 
gentleman,  bent  on  convincing  me  that  the  policy  of  Eng- 
land was  the  most  humane  in  the  world;  the  crowd  of 
dirty  Jews  with  their  accompanying  odours  ;  the  numbers 
of  young  conscripts  who  travelled  in  our  train,  and  the 
farewell  scenes  with  their  wives  and  mothers  at  every 
station — all  these  things  spoilt  my  pleasure  in  returning  to 
my  beloved  native  land.  At  Shmerinka  we  had  to  wait  a 
few  hours ;  unfortunately,  as  it  was  night,  I  could  not  see 
Brailov,1  although  I  knew  in  which  direction  to  look  for 
it.  ...  As  my  sister's  house  is  rather  crowded,  she  has 
taken  a  nice,  quiet  room  near  at  hand  for  me.  I  have  also 
a  garden,  well  stocked  with  flowers,  which  will  soon  begin 
to  exhale  their  lovely  perfumes.  My  little  home  is  very 
cosy  and  comfortable.  There  is  even  a  piano  in  the  tiny 
parlour  next  to  my  bedroom.  I  shall  be  able  to  work  un- 
disturbed. 

"...  How  glad  I  am,  dear  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  that 
you  take  such  a  just  and  sensible  view  of  the  agitating 
events  which  have  been  taking  place  in  Petersburg  and 

1  The  country  property  of  Nadejda  von  Meek. 


298  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

Moscow!  I  did  not  expect  you  to  think  differently, 
although  I  feared  lest  your  pity  for  Sassoulich  personally 
— in  any  case  a  very  diluted  and  involuntary  sympathy — 
might  possibly  have  influenced  your  opinion.  It  is  one 
thing,  however,  to  feel  sorry  for  her,  and  to  detest  the  arro- 
gant and  brutal  conduct  of  the  arbitrary  Prefect  of  Peters- 
burg, and  quite  another  thing  to  approve  of  that  display  of 
unpatriotic  sentiment  by  which  her  acquittal  has  been 
signalised,  and  with  the  Moscow  riots.  It  seems  to  me 
that  both  these  events  are  most  disquieting  at  the  present 
moment,  and  I  am  exceedingly  glad  that  the  Russian 
lower  classes  have  shown  the  crazy  leaders  of  our  younger 
generation  how  little  their  orders  are  in  accord  with  sound 
sense  and  the  spirit  of  the  nation.  I  am  glad  to  feel  once 
again  that,  in  spite  of  a  few  differences  as  to  details,  we 
are  in  agreement  on  most  important  matters." 

A  few  days  after  receiving  this  letter,  N.  F.  von  Meek 
invited  Tchaikovsky  to  spend  some  weeks  in  the  restful 
solitude  of  her  estate  at  Brailov,  "  Of  course  she  herself 
will  not  be  there,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother  on  April  2/th 
(May  Qth).  "  I  am  delighted  to  accept  her  invitation." 
Meanwhile  his  days  at  Kamenka  were  fully  occupied,  as 
may  be  seen  from  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  to 
Nadejda  von  Meek,  dated  April  3Oth,  1878  : — 

"  I  am  working  very  hard.  The  sonata  is  already 
finished,  as  are  also  twelve  pieces — of  moderate  difficulty 
— for  pianoforte.  Of  course  all  this  is  only  sketched  out. 
To-morrow  I  shall  begin  a  collection  of  miniature  pieces 
for  children.  I  thought  long  ago  it  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  enrich  the  children's 
musical  literature,  which  is  rather  scanty.  I  want  to  write 
a  whole  series  of  perfectly  easy  pieces,  and  to  find  titles 
for  them  which  would  interest  children,  as  Schumann  has 
done.  I  have  planned  songs  and  violin  pieces  for  later  on, 
and  then,  if  the  favourable  mood  lasts  long  enough,  I  want 
to  do  something  in  the  way  of  Church  music.  A  vast  and 
almost  untrodden  field  of  activity  lies  open  to  composers 
here.  I  appreciate  certain  merits  in  Bortniansky,  Berez- 
ovsky, and  others ;  but  how  little  their  music  is  in  keeping 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  299 

with  the  Byzantine  architecture,  the  ikons,  and  the  whole 
spirit  of  the  Orthodox  liturgy  !  Perhaps  you  are  aware 
that  the  Imperial  Chapels  have  the  monopoly  of  Church 
music,  and  that  it  is  forbidden  to  print,  or  to  sing  in 
church,  any  sacred  compositions  which  are  not  included  in 
the  published  collections  of  these  Chapels.  Moreover,  they 
guard  this  monopoly  very  jealously,  and  will  not  permit 
new  settings  of  any  portions  of  the  liturgy  under  any 
circumstances  whatever.  My  publisher,  Jurgenson,  has 
discovered  a  way  of  evading  this  curious  prohibition,  and  if 
I  write  anything  of  this  kind,  he  will  publish  it  abroad.  It 
is  not  improbable  that  I  shall  decide  to  set  the  entire 
liturgy  of  St.  John  Chrysostom.  I  shall  arrange  all  this 
by  July.  I  intend  to  rest  absolutely  during  the  whole  of 
that  month,  and  to  start  upon  some  important  work  in 
August.  I  should  like  to  write  an  opera.  Turning  over 
books  in  my  sister's  library,  I  came  upon  Joukovsky's 
Undine,  and  re-read  the  tale  which  I  loved  as  a  child.  In 
1869  I  wrote  an  opera  on  this  subject,  and  submitted  it  to 
the  Opera  Direction.  It  was  rejected.  Although  at  the 
time  I  thought  this  very  unjust,  yet  afterwards  I  became 
disillusioned  with  my  own  work,  and  was  very  glad  it 
had  not  had  the  chance  of  being  damned.  Now  I  am 
again  attracted  to  the  subject." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KIEV,  May  \\th  (26^),  1878. 

"  My  telegram  to-day,  sent  from  Kiev,  must  have  aston- 
ished you,  dear  friend.  I  left  quite  suddenly,  as  my 
sister  had  to  come  here  sooner  than  she  expected.  ...  I 
could  not  wait  at  Kamenka  for  your  letter  containing  direc- 
tions for  my  journey  to  Brailov  ;  but,  in  any  case,  I  shall 
leave  here  on  Tuesday,  and  arrive  at  Shmerinka  at  7  a.m. 
on  Wednesday." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  BRAILOV,  May  \ith  (29^),  1878. 

"  Seated  in  the  carriage,  after  you  left  me,  of  course  I 
dissolved  in  tears.  The  recollection  of  our  meeting  in 


300  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Milan  came  back  to  me.  How  jolly  it  was  !  The  journey 
to  Genoa  and  afterwards  !  How  beautiful  it  all  seemed  to 
me — and  it  was  nearly  six  months  ago !  Here  followed  a 
fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"  One  of  my  fellow-travellers,  who  seemed  to  know  this 
neighbourhood,  told  us  that  Brailov  belonged  to  the  banker 
Meek,  had  cost  three  million  roubles,  and  brought  the 
owner  a  yearly  income  of  700,000  roubles,  and  other  non- 
sense. I  was  very  much  excited  on  the  journey.  In  the 
waiting-room  at  Shmerinka  1  was  greeted  by  the  same 
waiter — you  remember  him — who  served  our  supper  ;  I 
told  him  to  inquire  whether  any  horses  had  been  sent  from 
Brailov.  Two  minutes  later  Marcel  appeared.  He  is  not 
a  Frenchman,  but  a  native.  He  was  very  attentive  and 
amiable.  His  coat  and  hat  were  infinitely  superior  to  mine, 
so  that  I  felt  quite  embarrassed  as  I  took  my  seat  in  the 
luxuriously  appointed  carriage,  while  he  mounted  the  box 
beside  the  coachman.  The  house  is  really  a  palace.  At 
Marcel's  invitation  I  entered  the  dining-room,  where  a 
huge  silver  samovar  steamed  on  the  table,  together  with 
a  coffee-pot  upon  a  spirit-lamp,  cups  of  rare  china,  eggs, 
butter,  etc.  I  observed  that  Marcel  had  received  his 
instructions  ;  he  did  not  attempt  to  converse,  nor  to  stand 
behind  my  chair,  but  just  served  what  was  necessary  and 
went  away.  He  inquired  how  I  desired  to  arrange  my 
day.  I  ordered  my  midday  meal  at  one  o'clock,  tea  at 
nine,  and  a  cold  supper.  After  coffee  I  explored  the  house, 
which  contains  a  series  of  separate  suites  of  rooms.  A 
large  wing,  built  in  stone  for  the  accommodation  of  guests, 
is  arranged  like  a  kind  of  hotel ;  a  long  corridor  with 
rooms  on  each  side,  which  are  always  kept  exactly  as 
though  they  were  inhabited.  The  first  floor,  which  I 
occupy,  is  furnished  with  the  utmost  comfort.  There  are 
many  bookcases  containing  very  interesting  illustrated 
publications.  In  the  music-room,  a  grand  piano,  a  very 
fine  harmonium,  and  plenty  of  music.  In  Nadejda  Filaret- 
ovna's  study  there  are  a  few  pictures.  At  one  o'clock 
I  had  dinner,  a  very  exquisite,  but  rather  slight,  repast. 
The  Zakouska  (hors  dceuvre)  excellent,  the  wine  ditto. 
After  dinner  I  looked  through  the  music  and  strolled  in 
the  garden.  At  four  o'clock  I  ordered  the  carriage  and 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  301 

took  a  drive.  The  neighbourhood  of  Brailov  is  not  very 
pretty.  There  is  no  view  from  the  windows.  The  garden 
is  extensive  and  well  stocked,  especially  with  lilacs  and 
roses,  but  it  is  not  picturesque,  nor  sufficiently  shady.  On 
the  whole  I  like  the  house  best.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  i%th  (30^),  1878. 

"  How  lovely,  how  free,  it  is  in  your  country  home!  The 
sun  has  set,  and  over  the  wide  fields  in  front  of  the  main 
entrance  the  heat  is  already  giving  way  to  the  cool  evening 
breeze.  The  lilacs  scent  the  air,  and  the  cockchafers  break 
the  stillness  with  their  bass  note.  The  nightingale  is  sing- 
ing in  the  distance.  How  glorious  it  is  ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"BRAILOV,  May  2isf  (June  2nd),  1878. 

"  My  life  at  Brailov  flows  tranquilly  on.  In  the  early 
morning  after  coffee  I  stroll  in  the  garden,  and  then  slip  out 
through  the  little  wooden  door  in  the  wall  near  the  stable, 
and,  jumping  the  ditch,  find  myself  in  the  old,  forsaken 
garden  of  the  monastery,  where  the  monks  used  to  wander 
of  old,  but  which  is  now  tenanted  by  all  kinds  of  birds. 
Not  infrequently  the  oriole  and  the  nightingale  are  seen 
there.  This  garden  is  apparently  deserted,  for  the  paths 
are  so  overgrown  and  the  greenery  so  fresh  that  one  could 
fancy  oneself  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  First  I  wander 
through  it,  then  sit  down  in  a  shady  place  for  an  hour  or 
so.  Such  moments  of  solitude  amid  the  flowers  and  green 
branches  are  incomparable ;  then  I  can  watch  every  form 
of  organic  life  which  manifests  itself  silently,  without  a 
sound,  yet  speaks  more  forcibly  of  the  illimitable  and  the 
eternal  than  the  rumbling  of  bridges  and  all  the  turmoil  of 
the  streets.  In  one  of  your  letters  you  say  I  shall  not  find 
a  Gorge  de  Chaudiere  at  Brailov.  I  do  not  want  it !  Such 
places  satisfy  one's  curiosity  rather  than  one's  heart  and 
imagination  ;  one  sees  more  English  tourists  than  birds 
and  flowers  ;  they  bring  more  fatigue  than  enjoyment. 

"  After  my  walk  I  work  at  the  violin  pieces,  one  of  which 


302  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

is  quite  finished.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  it  will  please  you, 
although  the  accompaniment  is  rather  difficult  in  places, 
and  this,  I  fear,  will  make  you  angry. 

"Punctually  at  I  p.m.  Marcel  summons  me  to  the 
dining-room,  where,  in  -  the  middle  of  the  elegantly 
appointed  table,  two  big  bouquets  are  arranged,  which 
give  me  fresh  cause  for  delight.  Then  follows  a  real 
Balthazar's  feast.  Each  time  I  feel  a  little  ashamed  to 
sit  down  alone  to  such  a  liberal  and  sumptuous  table. 

"After  dinner  I  walk  in  the  garden,  read,  or  write  letters 
until  4.30,  when  I  go  for  a  drive. 

"Yesterday  the  rain  prevented  me  from  taking  my 
usual  constitutional  in  the  meadows  facing  the  house.  At 
sunset  I  like  a  more  open  space,  and  these  meadows 
enclosed  by  trees,  lilac  bushes,  and  the  stream,  offer  a 
charming  evening  walk. 

"  Then  I  generally  spend  half  an  hour  at  your  splendid 
harmonium.  I  like  to  observe  all  its  curious  acoustic 
properties,  which  are  called  aliquot  tones.  No  doubt  you 
have  observed  that  when  you  play  chords  on  the  organ, 
besides  the  sound  which  comes  from  the  notes  struck, 
another  sound  is  heard  in  the  bass,  which  sometimes 
harmonises  with  the  chord  and  sometimes  results  in  a 
harsh  discord.  Occasionally  the  most  curious  combinations 
are  produced.  This  is  what  I  discovered  yesterday. 


I      i      4.     4     I    .4      !      i 


Try  this  acoustic  experiment  by  drawing  out  register 
No.  i,  that  is  to  say  Flute  and  Cor  Anglais.  D  and  F  sharp, 
A  and  C  are  perfectly 'in  tune,  but  the  E  sounds  rather 
sharp. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  303 

"  At  9  p.m.  the  second  Balthazar's  feast  takes  place. 
Then  I  play  and  make  myself  acquainted  with  your 
musical  library.  Yesterday  I  played  through  a  serenade 
for  strings  by  Volkmann  with  great  pleasure.  A  sympa- 
thetic composer.  He  has  many  simple  and  natural 
charms. 

"  Do  you  know  that  Volkmann  is  quite  an  old  man  and 
lives  in  the  greatest  poverty  at  Pesth  ?  Once  the  musicians 
in  Moscow  got  up  a  small  fund  for  him,  amounting  to  300 
roubles,  in  gratitude  for  which  he  dedicated  his  Second 
Symphony  to  the  Moscow  Musical  Society.  I  never  could 
discover  why  he  was  so  poor. 

"At  II  p.m.  I  go  to  my  room  and  undress.  Marcel,  the 
good-natured  soldier-porter,  and  Alexis  go  to  bed.  I  am 
left  alone  to  read,  dream,  or  recall  the  past ;  to  think  of 
those  near  and  dear  to  me  ;  to  open  the  window  and  gaze 
out  on  the  stars ;  to  listen  to  the  sounds  of  night ;  and 
finally — to  go  to  bed. 

"  A  wonderful  life  !  Like  a  vision,  a  dream  !  Kind  and 
beloved  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  how  grateful  I  am  to  you 
for  everything!  Sometimes  my  sense  of  gratitude  is  so 
keen  I  feel  I  must  proclaim  it  aloud." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  BRAILOV,  May  *$rd  (June  4^),  1878. 

"  As  I  walked  through  the  woods  yesterday  I  found  a 
quantity  of  mushrooms.  Mushrooming  is  my  greatest 
delight  in  summer.  The  moment  in  which  one  first  sees  a 
plump,  white  mushroom  is  simply  fascinating !  Passionate 
card-lovers  may  experience  the  same  feeling  when  they 
see  the  ace  of  trumps  in  their  hand.  All  night  long  I 
dreamed  of  large,  fat,  pink  mushrooms.  When  I  awoke 
I  reflected  that  these  muskroomy  dreams  were  very  child- 
ish. And,  in  truth,  one  would  become  a  child  again  if 
one  lived  long  all  alone  with  Nature.  One  would  become 
far  more  receptive  to  the  simple,  artless  joys  which  she 
offers  us. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  preoccupied  with  at  present  ? 
When  I  was  sitting  alone  one  evening  at  Kiev,  while  my 
sister  and  Modeste  had  gone  to  the  theatre  to  see  Rossi  in 


304  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  I  read  the  play  through  once  more. 
Immediately  I  was  possessed  with  the  idea  of  composing 
an  opera  on  the  subject.  The  existing  operas  of  Bellini 
and  Gounod  do  not  frighten  me.  In  both  of  them  Shake- 
speare is  mutilated  and  distorted  until  he  is  hardly  recog- 
nisable. Do  you  not  think  that  this  great  work  of  the 
arch-genius  is  well  adapted  to  inspire  a  musician  ?  I  have 
already  talked  it  over  with  Modeste ;  but  he  shrank  from 
the  magnitude  of  the  task.  Nothing  venture,  nothing 
have.  I  shall  think  over  the  plan  of  this  opera  and  throw 
all  my  energies  into  the  work  for  which  I  am  reserving 
them." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"BRAILOV,  May  2$th  (June  6th\  1878. 

"  Modi,  ever  since  I  re-read  Romeo  and  Juliet^  Undine^ 
Berthalde>  Gulbrand>  and  the  rest  seem  to  me  a  pack  of 
childish  nonsense.  Of  course,  I  shall  compose  an  opera  on 
Romeo  and  Juliet.  All  your  objections  will  vanish  before 
the  vast  enthusiasm  which  possesses  me.  It  shall  be  my 
finest  work.  It  seems  absurd  that  I  have  only  just  found 
out  that  fate  has  to  some  extent  ordained  me  for  this  task. 
Nothing  could  be  better  suited  to  my  musical  tempera- 
ment. No  kings,  no  marches — in  a  word,  none  of  the 
usual  accessories  of  Grand  Opera.  Nothing  but  love,  love, 
love.  And  then  how  delightful  are  the  minor  characters : 
Friar  Lawrence,  Tybalt,  Mercutio!  You  need  not  be 
afraid  of  monotony.  The  first  love  duet  will  be  very 
different  from  the  second.  In  the  first,  brightness  and 
serenity ;  in  the  second,  a  tragic  element.  From  children, 
happily  and  carelessly  in  love,  Romeo  and  Juliet  have 
become  passionate  and  suffering  beings,  placed  in  a 
tragic  and  inextricable  dilemma.  How  I  long  to  get  to 
work  on  it ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"BRAILOV,  May  27^  (June  8M),  1878. 
"  Yesterday    I    played   the   whole   of  Eugene   Oniegin, 
from  beginning  to  end.     The  author  was  the  sole  listener. 
I  am  half  ashamed  of  what  I  am  going  to  confide  to  you  in 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  305 

secret :  the  listener  was  moved  to  tears,  and  paid  the  com- 
poser a  thousand  compliments.  If  only  the  audiences  of 
the  future  will  feel  towards  this  music  as  the  composer 
himself  does!" 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  ztfh  (June  iQth\  1878. 

"  I  am  spending  my  last  days  here.  I  need  hardly  tell 
you  why  I  cannot  accept  your  hospitality  any  longer, 
although  I  might  remain  until  June  loth  (22nd).  I  have 
spent  many  unforgettable  days  here ;  I  have  experienced 
the  purest  and  most  tranquil  enjoyment.  I  have  drunk  in 
the  beauties  and  sympathetic  surroundings  of  Brailov,  so 
that  my  visit  will  remain  one  of  the  most  beautiful  memo- 
ries of  my  life.  I  thank  you.  Nevertheless  it  is  time  I 
went  away." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  $otk  (June  nM),  1878. 

"  I  have  given  my  pieces  (which  are  dedicated  to  Brailov) 
to  Marcel,  so  that  he  may  deliver  them  to  you.  The  first 
is  the  best,  I  think,  but  also  the  most  difficult ;  it  is  called 
Meditation.  The  second  is  a  very  quick  Scherzo,  and  the 
third  a  '  Chant  sans  Paroles?  It  was  very  hard  to  part  with 
them  to  Marcel.  Just  recently  I  had  started  copying 
them  !  Then  the  lilacs  were  still  in  full  bloom,  the  grass 
uncut,  and  the  roses  had  hardly  begun  to  bud  ! " 


VIII 

To  N.  F.  Meek. 
"VILLAGE  OF  Nizi,fune  6th  (i8M)  1878. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  friend,  for  not  having  written  to  you 
from  Petersburg.  In  the  first  place,  I  was  afraid  my  letter 
might  not  reach  you  in  time,  and  secondly,  you  cannot 
imagine  what  a  hell  my  three  days'  sojourn  in  Moscow 
proved  to  be.  They  seemed  more  like  three  centuries.  I 
experienced  the  same  joy  when  I  found  myself  in  the  train 


306  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

once  more  that  I  might  have  felt  on  being  released  from  a 
narrow  prison  cell.  I  have  come  here  in  answer  to  the 
invitation  of  a  hospitable  old  friend,  Kondratiev,  whom 
I  formerly  used  to  visit  almost  every  summer.  Here  I 
composed  Vakoula  and  many  other  works." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  June  2^th  (July  6th\  1878. 

"  You  want  to  know  my  methods  of  composing  ?  Do 
you  know,  dear  friend,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  give  a 
satisfactory  answer  to  your  question,  because  the  circum- 
stances under  which  a  new  work  comes  into  the  world 
vary  considerably  in  each  case. 

"  First,  I  must  divide  my  works  into  two  categories,  for 
this  is  important  in  trying  to  explain  my  methods. 

"  (i)  Works  which  I  compose  on  my  own  initiative — that 
is  to  say,  from  an  invincible  inward  impulse. 

"(2)  Works  which  are  inspired  by  external  circumstances : 
the  wish  of  a  friend,  or  a  publisher,  and  commissioned 
works. 

"  Here  I  should  add  experience  has  taught  me  that  the 
intrinsic  value  of  a  work  has  nothing  to  do  with  its  place 
in  one  or  the  other  of  these  categories.  It  frequently 
happens  that  a  composition  which  owes  its  existence  to 
external  influences  proves  very  successful ;  while  one  that 
proceeds  entirely  from  my  own  initiative  may,  for  various 
indirect  reasons,  turn  out  far  less  well.  These  indirect 
circumstances,  upon  which  depends  the  mood  in  which  a 
work  is  written,  are  of  the  very  greatest  importance. 
During  the  actual  time  of  creative  activity  complete  quiet 
is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  artist.  In  this  sense  every 
work  of  art,  even  a  musical  composition,  is  objective. 
Those  who  imagine  that  a  creative  artist  can — through  the 
medium  of  his  art — express  his  feelings  at  the  moment 
when  he  is  moved,  make  the  greatest  mistake.  Emotions 
— sad  or  joyful — can  only  be  expressed  retrospectively,  so 
to  speak.  Without  any  special  reason  for  rejoicing,  I  may 
be  moved  by  the  most  cheerful  creative  mood,  and,  vice 
versd,  a  work  composed  under  the  happiest  surroundings 
may  be  touched  with  dark  and  gloomy  colours. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  307 

"  In  a  word,  an  artist  lives  a  double  life :  an  everyday 
human  life,  and  an  artistic  life,  and  the  two  do  not  always 
go  hand  in  hand. 

"In  any  case,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  a  composer 
to  shake  off  all  the  cares  of  daily  existence,  at  least  for  a 
time,  and  give  himself  up  entirely  to  his  art-life. 

"  Works  belonging  to  the  first  category  do  not  require  the 
least  effort  of  will.  It  is  only  necessary  to  obey  our  in- 
ward promptings,  and  if  our  material  life  does  not  crush 
our  artistic  life  under  its  weight  of  depressing  circum- 
stances, the  work  progresses  with  inconceivable  rapidity. 
Everything  else  is  forgotten,  the  soul  throbs  with  an 
incomprehensible  and  indescribable  excitement,  so  that, 
almost  before  we  can  follow  this  swift  flight  of  inspiration, 
time  passes  literally  unreckoned  and  unobserved. 

"  There  is  something  somnambulistic  about  this  condi- 
tion. On  ne  sentend  pas  vivre.  It  is  impossible  to 
describe  such  moments.  Everything  that  flows  from  one's 
pen,  or  merely  passes  through  one's  brain  (for  such 
moments  often  come  at  a  time  when  writing  is  an  impossi- 
bility) under  these  circumstances  is  invariably  good,  and 
if  no  external  obstacle  comes  to  hinder  the  creative 
glow,  the  result  will  be  an  artist's  best  and  most  perfect 
work.  Unfortunately  such  external  hindrances  are  in- 
evitable. A  duty  has  to  be  performed,  dinner  is  an- 
nounced, a  letter  arrives,  and  so  on.  This  is  the  reason 
why  there  exist  so  few  compositions  which  are  of  equal 
quality  throughout.  Hence  the  joins,  patches ',  inequalities 
and  discrepancies. 

"  For  the  works  in  my  second  category  it  is  necessary  to 
get  into  the  mood.  To  do  so  we  are  often  obliged  to  fight 
with  indolence  and  disinclination.  Besides  this,  there  are 
many  other  fortuitous  circumstances.  Sometimes  the  vic- 
tory is  easily  gained.  At  other  times  inspiration  eludes  us, 
and  cannot  be  recaptured.  I  consider  it,  however,  the  duty 
of  an  artist  not  to  be  conquered  by  circumstances.  He 
must  not  wait.  Inspiration  is  a  guest  who  does  not  care  to 
visit  those  who  are  indolent.  The  reproaches  heaped  upon 
the  Russian  nation  because  of  its  deficiency  in  original 
works  of  art  are  not  without  foundation,  for  the  Russians 
are  lazy.  A  Russian  is  always  glad  to  procrastinate  :  he  is 


308  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

gifted  by  nature,  but  at  the  same  time  nature  has  withheld 
from  him  the  power  of  will.  A  man  must  learn  to  conquer 
himself,  lest  he  should  degenerate  into  dilettantism,  from 
which  even  so  colossal  a  talent  as  Glinka's  was  not  free. 
This  man,  endowed  with  an  extraordinary  and  special 
creative  talent,  achieved  astonishingly  little,  although  he 
attained  a  fairly  ripe  age.  Read  his  Memoirs.  You  will 
see  that  he  worked  like  a  dilettante — on  and  off,  when  he 
was  in  the  mood.  However  proud  we  may  be  of  Glinka, 
we  must  acknowledge  that  he  did  not  entirely  fulfil  his 
task,  if  we  take  into  consideration  the  magnitude  of  his 
gifts.  Both  his  operas,  in  spite  of  their  astonishing  and 
original  beauty,  suffer  from  glaring  inequalities  of  style. 
Side  by  side  with  touches  of  genius  and  passages  of 
imperishable  beauty  we  find  childish  and  weak  numbers. 
What  might  not  Glinka  have  accomplished  had  he  lived 
amid  different  surroundings,  had  he  worked  like  an  artist 
who,  fully  alive  to  his  power  and  his  duty,  develops  his 
gifts  to  the  ultimate  limit  of  perfection,  rather  than  as  an 
amateur  who  makes  music  his  pastime ! 

"  I  have  explained  that  I  compose  either  from  an  inward 
impulse,  winged  by  a  lofty  and  undefinable  inspiration,  or 
I  simply  work,  invoking  all  my  powers,  which  sometimes 
answer  and  sometimes  remain  deaf  to  my  invocation.  In 
the  latter  case  the  work  created  will  always  remain  the 
mere  product  of  labour,  without  any  glow  of  genuine 
musical  feeling. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  am  boasting,  if  I  say  that 
my  appeal  to  inspiration  is  very  rarely  in  vain.  In  other 
words,  that  power  which  I  have  already  described  as  a 
capricious  guest  has  long  since  become  fast  friends  with 
me,  so  that  we  are  inseparable,  and  it  only  deserts  me 
when  my  material  existence  is  beset  by  untoward  circum- 
stances and  its  presence  is  of  no  avail.  Under  normal 
conditions  I  may  say  there  is  no  hour  of  the  day  in  which 
I  cannot  compose.  Sometimes  I  observe  with  curiosity 
that  uninterrupted  activity,  which — independent  of  the  sub- 
ject of  any  conversation  I  may  be  carrying  on — continues 
its  course  in  that  department  of  my  brain  which  is  devoted 
to  music.  Sometimes  it  takes  a  preparatory  form — that  is, 
the  consideration  of  all  details  that  concern  the  elabora- 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  309 

tion  of  some  projected  work  ;  another  time  it  may  be  an 
entirely  new  and  independent  musical  idea,  and  I  make  an 
effort  to  hold  it  fast  in  my  memory.  Whence  does  it 
come  ?  It  is  an  inscrutable  mystery. 

"  Now  I  will  try  to  describe  my  actual  procedure  in 
composition.  But  not  until  after  dinner.  Au  revoir.  If 
you  only  knew  how  difficult,  yet  at  the  same  time  how 
pleasant  it  is  to  talk  to  you  about  all  this  ! 

"  Two  o'clock. 

"  I  usually  write  my  sketches  on  the  first  piece  of  paper 
to  hand.  I  jot  them  down  in  the  most  abbreviated  form. 
A  melody  never  stands  alone,  but  invariably  with  the 
harmonies  which  belong  to  it.  These  two  elements  of 
music,  together  with  the  rhythm,  must  never  be  separated ; 
every  melodic  idea  brings  its  own  inevitable  harmony  and 
its  suitable  rhythm.  If  the  harmony  is  very  intricate,  I  set 
down  in  the  sketch  a  few  details  as  to  the  working  out  of 
the  parts  ;  when  the  harmony  is  quite  simple,  1  only  put  in 
the  bass,  or  a  figured  bass,  and  sometimes  not  even  this. 
If  the  sketch  is  intended  for  an  orchestral  work,  the  ideas 
appear  ready-coloured  by  some  special  instrumental  com- 
bination. The  original  plan  of  instrumentation  often 
undergoes  some  modifications. 

"  The  text  must  never  be  written  after  the  music,  for  if 
music  is  written  to  given  words  only,  these  words  invoke 
a  suitable  musical  expression.  It  is  quite  possible  to  fit 
words  to  a  short  melody,  but  in  treating  a  serious  work 
such  adaptation  is  not  permissible.  It  is  equally  im- 
possible to  compose  a  symphonic  work  and  afterwards  to 
attach  to  it  a  programme,  since  every  episode  of  the 
chosen  programme  should  evoke  its  corresponding  musical 
presentment.  This  stage  of  composition — the  sketch — is 
remarkably  pleasant  and  interesting.  It  brings  an  in- 
describable delight,  accompanied,  however,  by  a  kind  of 
unrest  and  nervous  agitation.  Sleep  is  disturbed  and 
meals  forgotten.  Nevertheless,  the  development  of  the 
project  proceeds  tranquilly.  The  instrumentation  of  a 
work  which  is  completely  thought  out  and  matured  is 
a  most  enjoyable  task. 

"  The  same  does  not  apply  to  the  bare  sketch  of  a  work 


3io  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

for  pianoforte  or  voice,  or  little  pieces  in  general,  which  are 
sometimes  very  tiresome.  Just  now  I  am  occupied  with 
this  kind  of  work.  You  ask  :  do  I  confine  myself  to  es- 
tablished forms  ?  Yes,  and  no.  Some  compositions  imply 
the  use  of  traditional  forms ;  but  only  as  regards  their 
general  features — the  sequence  of  the  various  movements. 
The  details  permit  of  considerable  freedom  of  treatment, 
if  the  development  of  the  ideas  require  it.  For  example, 
the  first  movement  of  our  Symphony  is  written  in  a  very 
informal  style.  The  second  subject,  which  ought,  properly 
speaking,  to  be  in  the  major,  is  in  a  somewhat  remote 
minor  key.  In  the  recapitulation  of  the  principal  part 
the  second  subject  is  entirely  left  out,  etc.  In  the  finale, 
too,  there  are  many  deviations  from  traditional  form.  In 
vocal  music,  in  which  everything  depends  on  the  text,  and 
in  fantasias  (like  The  Tempest  and  Francesco)  the  form  is 
quite  free.  You  ask  me  about  melodies  built  upon  the 
notes  of  the  harmony.  I  can  assure  you,  and  prove  it  by 
many  examples,  that  it  is  quite  possible,  by  means  of 
rhythm  and  the  transposition  of  these  notes,  to  evolve 
millions  of  new  and  beautiful  melodic  combinations. 
But  this  only  applies  to  homophonic  music.  With  poly- 
phonic music  such  a  method  of  building  up  a  melody 
would  interfere  with  the  independence  of  the  parts.  In 
the  music  of  Beethoven,  Weber,  Mendelssohn,  Schumann, 
and  especially  Wagner,  we  frequently  find  melodies  which 
consist  of  the  notes  of  the  common  chord ;  a  gifted 
musician  will  always  be  able  to  invent  a  new  and  interest- 
ing fanfare.  Do  you  remember  the  beautiful  Sword- 
motive  in  the  Nibelungen  ? 


^^b^^-fi 


& 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  a  melody  by  Verdi  (a  very  gifted 
man): 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  311 

"  How  glorious  and  how  fresh  the  chief  theme  of  the 
first  movement  of  Rubinstein's  Ocean  symphony : 


"  If  I  racked  my  brains  a  little,  I  should  find  countless 
examples  to  support  my  assertion.  Talent  is  the  sole 
secret.  It  knows  no  limitations :  it  creates  the  most 
beautiful  music  out  of  nothing.  Could  there  be  anything 
more  trivial  than  the  following  melody  ? 

Beethoven,  Seventh  Symphony : 


or  Glinka,  Jota  aragonesa : 


"  And  yet  what  splendid  musical  structures  Beethoven 
and  Glinka  have  raised  on  these  themes ! " 


To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  June  2$th  (July  ;//&),  1878. 

"  Yesterday,  when  I  wrote  to  you  about  my  methods  of 
composing,  I  did  not  sufficiently  enter  into  that  phase  of 
work  which  relates  to  the  working  out  of  the  sketch.  This 
phase  is  of  primary  importance.  What  has  been  set  down 


312  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

in  a  moment  of  ardour  must  now  be  critically  examined, 
improved,  extended,  or  condensed,  as  the  form  requires. 
Sometimes  one  must  do  oneself  violence,  must  sternly  and 
pitilessly  take  part  against  oneself,  before  one  can  merci- 
lessly erase  things  thought  out  with  love  and  enthusiasm. 
I  cannot  complain  of  poverty  of  imagination,  or  lack  of 
inventive  power ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  always 
suffered  from  my  want  of  skill  in  the  management  of 
form.  Only  after  strenuous  labour  have  I  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  form  of  my  compositions  correspond, 
more  or  less,  with  their  contents.  Formerly  I  was  care- 
less and  did  not  give  sufficient  attention  to  the  critical 
overhauling  of  my  sketches.  Consequently  my  seams 
showed,  and  there  was  no  organic  union  between  my 
individual  episodes.  This  was  a  very  serious  defect, 
and  I  only  improved  gradually  as  time  went  on ;  but  the 
form  of  my  works  will  never  be  exemplary,  because, 
although  I  can  modify,  I  cannot  radically  alter  the 
essential  qualities  of  my  musical  temperament.  But  I  am 
far  from  believing  that  my  gifts  have  yet  reached  their 
ultimate  development.  I  can  affirm  with  joy  that  I  make 
continual  progress  on  the  way  of  self-development,  and 
am  passionately  desirous  of  attaining  the  highest  degree 
of  perfection  of  which  my  talents  are  capable.  Therefore  I 
expressed  myself  badly  when  I  told  you  yesterday  that 
I  transcribed  my  works  direct  from  the  first  sketches. 
The  process  is  something  more  than  copying ;  it  is  actu- 
ally a  critical  examination,  leading  to  corrections,  occa- 
sional additions,  and  frequent  curtailments. 

"  In  your  letter  you  express  a  wish  to  see  my  sketches. 
Will  you  accept  the  original  sketch  for  my  opera  Eugene 
Oniegin  ?  As  the  pianoforte  score  will  be  published  in  the 
autumn,  it  might  interest  you  to  compare  the  autograph 
sketches  with  the  completed  work.  If  so,  I  will  send  you 
the  manuscript  as  soon  as  I  return  to  Moscow.  I  suggest 
Oniegin  because  none  of  my  works  has  been  written  with 
such  fluency ;  therefore  the  manuscript  is  easy  to  read,  as 
it  contains  few  corrections." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  313 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  VERBOVKA,/^  tfh  (i6M),  1878. 

".  .  .  My  work  progresses  slowly.  The  sonata  is 
finished,  however,  and  to-day  I  have  begun  to  write  out 
some  songs,  composed  partly  abroad  and  partly  at 
Kamenka,  in  April.  I  have  heard  from  Jurgenson  that 
four  great  Russian  concerts,  conducted  by  N.  Rubinstein, 
are  to  take  place  in  Paris.  My  Pianoforte  Concerto,  The 
Tempesty  Francesco,,  and  two  movements  from  our  Sym- 
phony are  to  be  given.  I  will  let  you  have  further 
particulars,  in  case  you  care  to  time  your  visit  to  Paris  so 
that  it  coincides  with  the  concerts.  Among  those  engaged 
to  take  part  in  them  is  Lavrovsky." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Jufy  z$th  (August  6th),  1878. 

"  I  write  to  you,  dear  friend,  with  a  light  heart,  happy 
in  the  consciousness  of  having  finished  a  work  (the  Liturgy). 
.  .  .  People  who  go  to  work  in  feverish  haste  (like  myself) 
are  really  the  laziest  folk.  They  get  through  their  work 
as  fast  as  possible  in  order  to  enjoy  idleness.  Now  I  can 
indulge  to  the  full  my  secret  delight  in  doing  nothing." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 
"  VERBOVKA,  July  2^th  (August  loM),  1878. 

<(  DEAR  FRIEND, — My  manuscripts  will  have  been  taken 
to  you.  You  will  find  plenty  of  material  for  your  en- 
gravers. I  send  you  five  pieces,  and  besides  these  I  shall 
shortly  despatch  three  pieces  for  violin. 

"  I  should  like  to  receive  the  following  fees : — x 

£     s.    d. 
"  i.  Sonata  (50  roubles)       .  .         .500 

2.  Twelve  pieces  (at  25  roubles  each)  .  30    o    o 

3.  The  Children's  Album  (240  roubles)  24    o    o 

4.  Six  songs  (at  25  roubles)          .         .1500 

5.  Violin  pieces  (at  25  roubles  each)     .     7  10    o 

6.  The  Liturgy  .  .  .   '     .  10     o    o 

91    10     o 

1  The  rouble  is  here  and  elsewhere  roughly  calculated  at  2s. 


3H  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  In  a  round  sum  900  roubles  ;  but  having  regard  to  the 
fact  that  I  have  written  such  a  quantity  at  once,  I  will  let 
you  have  the  lot  for  800  roubles." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"August  tfh  (i6th\  1878. 

"  With  my  usual  habit  of  worrying  and  upsetting  myself 
about  things,  I  am  now  troubled  because  I  did  not  get  to 
Brailov  in  time — immediately  after  your  departure.  I  am 
afraid  this  may  have  caused  some  inconvenience  to  your 
servants.  But  what  could  I  do?  I  wish  someone  could 
explain  to  me  the  origin  of  that  curious  exhaustion  which 
comes  upon  me  almost  every  evening,  about  which  I  have 
already  written  to  you.  I  cannot  say  it  is  altogether  dis- 
agreeable, because  it  usually  ends  in  a  heavy,  almost 
lethargic  sleep,  and  such  repose  is  bliss.  Nevertheless  the 
attacks  are  tiresome  and  unpleasant,  because  of  the  vague 
anxiety,  the  undefinable  yearning,  which  take  an  incon- 
ceivably strong  hold  upon  my  spirit,  and  end  in  a  positive 
longing  for  Nirvana — la  sbif-du  neant.  Probably  the  cause 
of  this  psychological  phenomenon  is  of  quite  a  prosaic 
nature ;  I  think  it  is  not  so  much  a  mental  ailment  as  a 
result  of  bad  digestion,  a  sequel  of  my  catarrh  of  the 
stomach.  Unluckily  we  cannot  get  over  the  fact  that  the 
material  influences  the  spiritual !  Too  often,  alas  !  a  pickled 
gherkin  too  much  has  played  the  most  important  part 
in  the  highest  functions  of  the  human  intellect.  Forgive 
me,  dear  friend,  for  boring  you  with  these  continual  com- 
plaints about  my  health,  which  are  out  of  place,  for  in 
reality  I  am  a  perfectly  sound  man,  and  the  little  ailments 
about  which  I  grumble  are  not  serious.  I  only  want  repose, 
and  I  shall  certainly  find  it  in  Brailov.  Good  Lord !  how 
I  long  for  the  dear  house  and  the  dear  neighbourhood !  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  August  itfh  (26^),  1878. 

"  I  have  brought  a  great  many  interesting  books  with 
me,  among  them  Histoire  de  ma  vie^  by  George  Sand. 
The  book  is  rather  carelessly  written — without  logical 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  315 

sequence,  like  a  clever  gossip  relating  his  own  reminiscences, 
but  with  many  digressions.  But  it  has  much  sincerity,  a 
complete  absence  of  pose,  and  remarkably  clever  portraiture 
of  the  people  among  whom  she  moved  in  her  youth.  Your 
library,  too,  contains  many  books  I  cannot  put  down  when 
I  have  once  opened  them.  Among  these  is  a  superb  edition 
of  de  Musset,  one  of  my  favourite  authors.  To-day,  look- 
ing through  this  volume,  I  became  so  absorbed  in  Andrea 
del  Sarto  that — seated  upon  the  floor — I  was  compelled  to 
read  the  whole  work  to  the  end.  I  am  passionately  fond 
of  all  de  Musset's  dramatic  works.  How  often  have  I 
thought  of  using  one  of  his  comedies  or  plays  as  an  opera 
libretto !  Unfortunately  they  are  all  too  French,  and  not 
to  be  thought  of  in  a  translation  ;  for  instance,  Le  Chande- 
lier, or  On  ne  badine  pas  avec  £  amour.  Some,  less  local  in 
character,  are  lacking  in  dramatic  movement,  such  as 
Lorenzaccio,  or  Andrea  del  Sarto.  Others,  again,  contain 
too  much  philosophising,  like  Les  caprices  de  Marianne. 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  French  composers  have 
hitherto  neglected  this  rich  source  of  inspiration." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  August  ibth  (28^),  1878. 

"I  return  once  more  to  Alfred  de  Musset.  You  must 
read  his  Proverbes  Dramatiques  from  end  to  end.  I  re- 
commend you  especially  Les  caprices  de  Marianne^  On  ne 
badine  pas  avec  I 'amour ',  and  Le  Chandelier.  Dp  not  these 
things  cry  aloud  for  music  ?  What  thought !  what  wit ! 
How  profoundly  felt  and  fascinating  in  their  elegance ! 
Yet  in  reading  his  works  we  feel  that  all  is  written  with  a 
light  hand,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  ideas  ;  that  is,  we  never 
feel  that  these  ideas  have  been  forcibly  obtruded  upon  the 
artistic  material,  thereby  paralysing  the  free  development 
of  the  characters  and  situations.  Then  I  delight  in  his 
truly  Shakespearean  anachronisms :  for  instance,  when  an 
imaginary  King  of  Bavaria  discusses  the  art  of  Grisi  with 
some  fantastic  Duke  of  Mantua.  Like  Shakespeare,  de 
Musset  does  not  keep  to  the  verities  of  place,  yet  all  the 
same  we  find  among  his  characters,  as  among  those  of 
Shakespeare,  many  of  those  universal  human  presentments 


316  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

who,  independent  of  time  and  locality,  belong  to  the  eternal 
truth.  Only  with  de  Musset  the  frame  is  narrower  and 
the  flight  less  lofty.  Nevertheless,  no  other  dramatic 
writer  approaches  Shakespeare  so  closely.  Les  Caprices  de 
Marianne  has  made  a  peculiarly  strong  impression  upon 
me,  and  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else  all  day  long  but 
the  possibility  of  turning  it  into  an  opera.  I  feel  the 
necessity  of  considering  a  libretto.  My  enthusiasm  for 
Undine  has  cooled.  I  am  still  captivated  by  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  but — first  it  is  very  difficult,  and  secondly,  I  am 
rather  frightened  of  Gounod,  who  has  already  written  a 
mediocre  opera  on  this  subject." 

ToN.F,  Von  Meek. 
"  VERBOVKA  August  2$th  (September  bth\  187$. 

"...  I  have  already  told  you  that  at  Brailov  I  jotted 
down  the  sketch  of  a  scherzo  for  orchestra.  Afterwards 
the  idea  came  to  me  of  composing  a  series  of  orchestral 
pieces  out  of  which  I  could  put  together  a  Suite,  in  the 
style  of  Lachner.  Arrived  at  Verbovka,  I  felt  I  could  not 
restrain  my  impulse,  and  hastened  to  work  out  on  paper 
my  sketches  for  this  Suite.  I  worked  at  it  with  such 
delight  and  enthusiasm  that  I  literally  lost  count  of  time. 
At  the  present  moment  three  movements  are  finished,  the 
fourth  is  sketched  out,  and  the  fifth  sits  waiting  in  my  head. 
.  .  .  The  Suite  will  consist  of  five  movements:  (i)  Intro- 
duction and  Fugue,  (2)  Scherzo,  (3)  Andante,  (4)  Inter- 
mezzo (Echo  du  bal\  (5)  Rondo.  While  engaged  upon 
this  work  my  thoughts  were  perpetually  with  you ;  every 
moment  I  asked  myself  if  such  and  such  passages  would 
please,  or  such  and  such  melodies  touch  you  ?  Therefore 
my  new  work  can  only  be  dedicated  to  my  best  friend. 

"  To-morrow  I  travel  straight  to  Petersburg  to  see  my 
father  and  Anatol  again,  and  shall  remain  there  two  or 
three  days.  Then  I  go  to  Moscow.  I  look  to  the  future 
with  a  little  apprehension,  a  little  sadness,  and  a  trifle 
of  disgust." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  317 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"KiEV,  August  2^th  (September  io/$),  1878. 

"In  to-day's  paper  (the  Novoe  Vremya)  I  found  an 
article  containing  a  mean,  base  and  vulgar  attack  upon 
the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  Very  little  is  said  about  me 
personally ;  it  simply  states  that  I  occupy  myself  exclu- 
sively with  music  and  take  no  part  in  the  intrigues. 

"  Going  along  in  the  train,  with  this  paper  in  my  hand, 
I  resolved  to  resign  my  professorship.  I  should  have  done 
so  immediately,  and  not  returned  to  Moscow  at  all,  if  my 
rooms  had  not  been  already  engaged,  and  if  I  had  not 
been  definitely  expected  at  the  Conservatoire.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  wait  until  December,  then  I  will  go 
to  Kamenka  for  the  holidays  and  write  from  there  that  I 
am  indisposed.  Of  course  I  shall  give  private  information 
of  my  intentions  to  Rubinstein,  so  that  he  may  have  time 
to  engage  another  professor.  So  vive  la  liberte,  and  especi- 
ally Nadejda  Filaretovna !  There  is  no  doubt  whatever 
that  she  will  approve  of  my  decision — consequently  I  shall 
be  able  to  lead  a  glorious,  wandering  life,  sometimes  in 
Kamenka,  sometimes  in  Verbovka,  sometimes  in  Peters- 
burg or  abroad.  .  .  . 

"  For  God's  sake  go  on  with  your  novel  \  Work  is  the 
sole  cure  for  les  miseres  de  la  vie  humaine.  Besides,  it 
gives  you  independence. 

"  You  will  say  you  have  no  time  for  writing  because  you 
are  occupied  all  day  with  Kolya.  All  the  same,  I  repeat : 
Write,  write,  write !  I  might  offer  myself  as  an  example. 
I  used  to  have  six  hours'  exhausting  teaching  at  the  Con- 
servatoire, besides  living  with  Rubinstein — whose  ways 
hindered  me  exceedingly — in  a  house  next  door  to  the 
Conservatoire,  whence  was  borne  the  sound  of  unceasing 
scales  and  exercises  which  made  it  difficult  to  compose. 
Your  occupations  with  Kolya  may  be  somewhat  heavier 
than  my  theory  classes,  but  still  I  say,  Write  !  Meanwhile 
I  embrace  you,  dear  Modi !  What  does  anything  matter 
when  people  love  as  I  love  you  and  you  love  me  (forgive 
my  self-assurance) ! " 


PART   V 

I 
1878-1879 

WHEN  in   1877  Tchaikovsky  declined  to  act 
as  delegate  for   the  Paris    Exhibition,  the 
office  was  accepted  by  Nicholas  Rubinstein, 
who,   in    September,    1878,   gave    four   im- 
portant  concerts   at   the   Trocadero,  the   programmes  of 
which  were  drawn  exclusively  from  the  works  of  Russian 
composers. 

Tchaikovsky  was  represented  by  the  following  works :  the 
Pianoforte  Concerto  (B  b  minor),  The  Tempest \  Chant  sans 
Paroles  (played  by  Nicholas  Rubinstein),  and  "  Serenade 
and  Valse  "  for  violin  (played  by  Bartzevich).  The  success 
of  these  compositions,  especially  of  the  Concerto,  thanks  to 
Rubinstein's  artistic  interpretation,  was  so  great  that, 
judging  by  the  opinions  of  Tchaikovsky's  friends  and 
opponents,  the  chief  interest  of  all  four  concerts  centred 
in  them.  Eye  -  witnesses  declare  they  never  saw  such 
enthusiasm  in  any  concert-room  as  was  displayed  on  the 
first  evening  after  the  performance  of  the  B !?  minor  Con- 
certo. The  work  was  repeated  with  equal  success  at  the 
fourth  concert. 

The  Paris  Press  accorded  the  warmest  greeting  to 
Tchaikovsky,  whose  name  was  as  yet  almost  unknown  to 
them,  the  most  appreciative  criticisms  being  expended 
upon  the  Concerto.  The  Tempest  came  in  for  its  share 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  319 

of  applause,  while  the  violin  pieces  were  not  so  well 
received. 

The  importance  of  Tchaikovsky's  success  was,  however, 
greatly  overrated,  both  by  himself  and  all  his  friends, 
including  N.  Rubinstein.  They  none  of  them  realised 
that  Paris  forgets  as  lightly  as  it  warms  to  enthusiasm. 
Scarcely  six  months  elapsed  before  The  Tempest,  which 
had  delighted  the  Parisian  public  at  the  Trocadero,  was 
received  with  suspicion  and  curiosity,  as  the  unknown 
work  of  an  unknown  composer  of  queer  Russian  music. 

About  the  same  time,  Bilse  brought  forward  Francesco, 
da  Rimini  in  Berlin.  Here,  where  Russian  music  had 
such  propagandists  as  Hans  von  Billow  and  Klindworth, 
Tchaikovsky  was  not  altogether  unknown  ;  but  although 
some  of  his  works,  like  the  Andante  from  the  first 
quartet,  were  almost  popular,  yet  the  composer  had  been 
regarded  with  a  certain  disdain,  and  almost  ignored  by 
the  majority  of  the  German  critics.  This  time  it  was 
different.  On  the  same  evening  as  Francesca,  Bilse  also 
conducted  Brahms's  Second  Symphony,  which,  being  a 
novelty,  drew  all  the  musical  lights  of  Berlin  to  the 
concert.  It  was  only  thanks  to  these  circumstances  that 
Francesca  was  not  entirely  passed  over  by  the  critics.  The 
Press  split  into  two  camps :  one  stood  up  for  Brahms  and 
attacked  Tchaikovsky,  the  other  took  the  opposite  view. 
The  hostile  party  was  the  stronger.  Richard  Wiirst  called 
the  work  "a  musical  monstrosity."1  "We  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, "a  few  songs,  pianoforte  pieces,  and  a  Cossack 
fantasia  (?)  by  this  composer;  these  compositions  bear  the 
stamp  of  an  original  talent,  but  are  not  pleasing  on  the 
whole.  In  the  Symphonic  Fantasia  (Francesco]  this  un- 
pleasantness is  so  obvious  as  to  make  us  forget  the 
originality  of  the  composer.  The  first  and  last  allegros, 
which  depict  the  whirlwinds  of  hell,  have  neither  subjects 

1  See  the  Berliner  Frem denblatt,  September  lyth,  1878. 


320  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

nor  ideas,  but  only  a  mass  of  sounds,  and  these  ear- 
splitting  effects  seem  to  us,  from  an  artistic  point  of  view, 
too  much  even  for  hell  itself.  The  middle  section,  which 
describes  the  unhappy  fate  of  Francesca,  Paolo,  and 
myself,  shows — in  spite  of  its  endless  length — at  least 
some  trace  of  catching  melody."  Another  critic,  O.  Lump- 
recht  (National  Zeitung,  September  I7th,  1878),  applies  to 
Francesca  such  terms  as  "  madness,"  "  musical  contor- 
tions," etc. 

Among  the  friendly  party  Francesca  was  favourably 
compared  to  the  Brahms  Symphony,  especially  by  Mosz- 
kowski.  Among  private  opinions  should  be  mentioned 
that  of  Hans  von  Biilow,  who  wrote  to  Tchaikovsky  shortly 
after  the  performance  that  he  was  far  more  charmed  with 
Francesca  than  with  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Kotek  says  that 
Joachim  was  pleased  with  the  work  in  spite  of  his  pre- 
possession in  favour  of  his  friend  Brahms,  while  Max  Bruch 
when  asked  his  opinion  of  Francesca  replied :  "  I  am  far 
too  stupid  to  criticise  such  music."  In  spite  of  the  over- 
ruling of  unfavourable  criticism,  and  its  mediocre  success 
with  the  public,  Bilse  had  the  courage  to  repeat  Francesca 
da  Rimini  in  the  course  of  the  same  season. 

Early  in  September  Tchaikovsky  returned  to  Moscow 
to  take  up  his  duties  at  the  Conservatoire.  His  quarters 
were  already  prepared  for  him.  Nevertheless,  before  re- 
turning to  the  town  he  had  once  loved  and  believed  to 
be  a  necessary  part  of  his  happiness,  he  had  already 
resolved  "  to  leave  it  again  at  the  earliest  opportunity." 

This  curious  discrepancy  between  his  actions  and  his 
intentions,  this  external  submission  to,  and  inward  protest 
against,  the  compelling  circumstances  of  life,  so  character- 
istic of  Tchaikovsky,  has  already  become  familiar  to  us. 
He  was  incapable  of  clearing  a  direct  way  for  himself  to 
some  definite  goal ;  he  could  only  desire  intensely  and 
await  with  patience  the  course  of  events,  until  the  obstacles 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  321 

gave  way  of  themselves  and  the  path  was  open  to  him  at 
last. 

After  the  mental  collapse  he  had  suffered,  and  during 
the  pause  in  his  creative  activity  in  November  and 
December,  1877,  he  thought  of  the  return  to  his  old  life 
in  Moscow  with  fear  and  trembling,  while  still  regarding 
it  as  an  inevitable  necessity.  The  great  distance  which 
lay  between  himself  and  Moscow  softened  all  its  sharpness 
of  outline,  and  veiled  all  the  unpleasant  side  of  life  in  that 
city.  From  far-away  Italy  and  Switzerland  he  no  longer 
looked  back  upon  everyday  Moscow,  but  saw  rather  the 
white  City  of  the  Tsars,  with  its  flashing  golden  cupolas, 
which  was  so  dear  to  his  patriotic  soul.  He  no  longer 
saw  the  Conservatoire,  with  its  tiresome  classes  and  petty 
commonplace  interests,  but  a  little  group  of  true  friends 
for  whom  he  yearned.  All  this  drowned  the  resolve 
which  already  existed  in  his  inmost  heart,  never  to  return 
to  his  old  way  of  life.  He  attributed  this  dislike  of  his 
former  existence  to  his  ill-health,  and  cherished  the  hope 
that  the  ideal  conditions  of  his  life  abroad  would  restore 
his  nerves  and  soothe  his  irritability ;  he  was  convinced 
that  he  would  completely  recover,  and  take  up  his  pro- 
fessorship once  more  with  a  stout  heart. 

But  it  proved  otherwise.  From  the  month  of  January, 
when  he  was  able  to  arrange  his  life  as  he  pleased,  when, 
with  improved  health,  the  desire  to  compose  awoke  once 
more — from  the  moment,  in  fact,  in  which  his  real  recovery 
began — life  in  Moscow  seemed  to  him  to  be  more  dreadful 
and  impossible ;  his  connection  with  the  Conservatoire, 
and  with  the  social  life  of  the  capital,  more  and  more 
unbearable ;  while  the  free,  untrammelled  existence  in 
which  nothing  hindered  his  creative  activity  grew  more 
attractive  in  his  eyes.  Never  had  Tchaikovsky  been  so 
lastingly  happy  as  during  the  period  dating  from  1878. 
Never  had  "the  calm,  peaceful  existence  in  solitude" 
appeared  so  alluring,  nor  his  imagination  so  quick  and  so 


322  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

varied.  Consequently  everything  which  disturbed  his 
existence  at  that  happy  time  seemed  hostile  and  unfavour- 
able to  its  continuance. 

Only  the  weak  bond  of  his  promise  to  return  to  the 
Conservatoire  remained  to  be  broken. 

At  the  moment  in  which  Tchaikovsky  left  the  train 
in  which  he  arrived  and  set  foot  on  Moscow  soil,  he 
was  possessed  with  w  the  idea  "  of  leaving  again  as  soon  as 
possible.  This  thought  gradually  grew  into  a  fixed  idea, 
under  the  influence  of  which  everything  that  had  once 
been  dear  to  him — his  faithful  friends  included — stirred  in 
him  an  exaggerated  feeling  of  resentment  and,  by  way  of 
reaction,  caused  everything  which  reminded  him  of  his 
freedom  to  appear  in  a  rosy  light.  In  his  first  letters  from 
Moscow  he  scarcely  speaks  on  any  other  topic  but  the 
irksomeness  of  life  there,  and  the  delight  with  which  he 
looks  back  to  every  detail  of  his  visits  to  Italy,  Switzer- 
land and  Brailov. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  however,  until  Rubin- 
stein's return  from  the  Paris  Exhibition,  which  would  not 
be  before  the  end  of  September. 

"  I  had  been  anxiously  awaiting  his  coming,"  wrote 
Tchaikovsky  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  "  because  I  wanted  to 
tell  him,  as  soon  as  possible,  of  my  intention  to  retire  from 
the  Conservatoire.  He  was  received  with  great  rejoicings, 
and  a  dinner  in  his  honour  was  given  at '  The  Hermitage/ * 
at  which  I  was  present.  In  his  reply  to  the  first  toast 
to  his  health,  Rubinstein  said  he  had  been  greatly  gratified 
by  the  success  of  my  works  at  his  concerts,  that  the  Con- 
servatoire had  reason  to  be  proud  of  its  connection  with  so 
famous  a  man,  etc.  The  speech  ended  in  an  ovation  to 
me.  I  need  hardly  tell  you  how  painful  this  speech  and 
ovation  were. 

"The  next  day  I  informed  him  of  my  future  plans.  I 
expected  Nicholas  Rubinstein  to  burst  forth  with  indigna- 
tion, and  try  to  convince  me  that  it  was  better  for  me 

1  A  famous  restaurant  in  Moscow. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  323 

to  stay  where  I  was.  On  the  contrary,  he  listened  to 
me  laughingly,  as  one  might  to  a  tiresome  child,  and 
expressed  his  regret.  He  merely  remarked  that  the  Con- 
servatoire would  lose  a  great  deal  of  its  prestige  with  the 
withdrawal  of  my  name,  which  was  as  good  as  saying  that 
the  pupils  would  not  really  suffer  much  by  my  resignation. 
Probably  he  is  right,  for  I  am  a  poor  and  inexperienced 
teacher — yet  I  anticipated  greater  opposition  to  my  resig- 
nation." 

It  was  decided  that  Tchaikovsky  should  stay  on  for  a 
month  or  two  at  the  Conservatoire,  in  order  to  give  his 
successor  Taneiev  time  to  prepare  for  his  classes ;  but 
when  it  was  announced  that  Hubert,  not  Taneiev,  was  to 
succeed  him,  he  "  hastened  the  course  of  events  "  and  in- 
formed Rubinstein  that  he  should  leave  Moscow  early  in 
October. 

From  Moscow  Tchaikovsky  went  to  St.  Petersburg, 
which  was  equally  unsuited  to  his  condition  of  mind.  The 
invitations  to  dinners,  suppers,  and  evening  parties,  fatigued 
him  and  wore  him  out.  The  bad  impression  which  Peters- 
burg left  upon  him  on  this  occasion  was  increased  by  the 
disappointment  he  experienced  as  regards  his  favourite 
opera,  Vakoula  the  Smith^  which  was  just  being  given  at 
the  Maryinsky  Theatre. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PETERSBURG,  October  $vth  (November  nth),  1878. 

"  Vakoula  the  Smith  went  quite  smoothly  and  well,  just 
as  it  did  at  the  first  performance ;  but  it  was  very  stereo- 
typed and  colourless.  All  the  while  I  felt  angry  with  one 
man  :  that  was  myself.  Good  Lord  !  what  heaps  of  unpar- 
donable mistakes  there  are  in  this  opera  which  I  alone 
could  have  made !  I  have  done  my  best  to  neutralise  the 
effect  of  all  those  situations  which  were  calculated  to  please. 
If  only  I  had  held  the  purely  musical  inspiration  in  check, 
and  kept  the  scenic  and  decorative  effects  more  in  view ! 
The  entire  opera  suffers  from  a  plethora  of  details  and  the 
tiresome  use  of  chromatic  harmonies.  Cest  un  menu  sur- 


324  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

chargt  de  mets  epice's.  It  contains  too  many  delicacies  and 
not  enough  simple,  wholesome  fare.  The  recent  production 
of  the  opera  has  been  a  lesson  to  me  for  the  future.  I 
think  Eugene  Oniegin  is  a  step  in  advance." 


ii 

At  the  beginning  of  November  Tchaikovsky  went  to 
Kamenka,  and  here  for  the  first  time  he  began  to  breathe 
freely  after  two  anxious  and  depressing  months. 

"  I  feel  very  well  here,"  he  wrote  in  November.  To  "  feel 
well "  was  the  equivalent  with  him  of  "  being  equal  to  hard 
work."  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  composed  more  at  Kamenka 
in  a  fortnight  than  during  the  two  months  he  had  spent  in 
Moscow  and  Petersburg.  On  November  I3th  (25th)  he 
wrote  to  his  brother  Modeste  : — 

"  Inspiration  has  come  to  me,  so  the  sketch  of  the  Suite 
is  almost  finished.  But  I  am  anxious  because  I  left  the 
manuscript  of  the  first  three  movements  in  Petersburg, 
and  it  may  get  lost.  I  wrote  the  last  two  movements  here. 
This  short  and — if  I  am  not  mistaken. — excellent  Suite  is 
in  five  movements:  (i)  Introduction  and  Fugue, (2)  Scherzo, 
(3)  Andante,  (4)  March  Miniature,  (5)  Giant's  Dance." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 
"FLORENCE,  November  2ist  (December  $rd\  1878. 

"...  I  came  here  yesterday,  direct  from  Vienna,  without 
visiting  Venice.  I  was  met  by  Pakhulsky  (Kotek's  succes- 
sor with  N.  F.  von  Meek),  who  took  me  to  my  quarters, 
which  were  warm  and  bright,  and  all  ready  for  their 
admiring  tenant. 

"  The  apartment  Nadejda  Filaretovna  has  taken  for  me 
consists  of  a  suite  of  five  rooms :  drawing-room,  dining- 
room,  bedroom,  dressing-room,  and  a  room  for  Alexis. 

"In  the  drawing-room  there  is  a  splendid  grand  piano, 
on  the  writing-table  every  kind  of  stationery,  and  two 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  325 

big  bouquets.  The  furniture  is  luxurious.  I  am  delighted 
that  the  house  stands  outside  the  town,  and  that  I  have 
such  a  beautiful  view  from  my  windows ! 

"  On  the  journey  here  I  was  troubled  with  the  thought 
that  Nadejda  Filaretovna  would  be  living  so  close  to  me  ; 
that  we  might  meet.  I  even  had  a  momentary  suspicion 
that  she  might  invite  me.  But  a  letter  from  her,  which  I 
found  upon  my  writing-table  yesterday,  completely  set  my 
mind  at  rest.  She  will  be  leaving  in  three  weeks,  and 
during  that  time  probably  we  shall  not  see  each  other  once." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  November  2vth  (December  2nd),  1878. 

".  .  .  If  you  knew  what  a  blessing  this  quiet,  regular, 
and  solitary  life  is,  especially  in  such  sympathetic  sur- 
roundings !  I  shall  begin  the  instrumentation  of  the 
Suite  with  ardour,  because  I  am  strongly  attracted  to  a 
new  subject  for  an  opera :  Schiller's  Maid  of  Orleans. 
.  .  .  This  idea  came  to  me  at  Kamenka,  while  turning  over 
the  pages  of  Joukovsky.  The  subject  offers  much  musical 
material.  Verdi's  opera,  Giovanna  d'Arco,  is  not  taken 
from  Schiller  in  the  first  place,  and  secondly  it  is  extremely 
poor.  But  I  am  glad  I  bought  it.  It  will  be  very  useful 
to  compare  the  libretto  with  the  French." 

"  November  22nd  (December  4//fc),  1878. 

"  I  have  never  thanked  you,  my  good  fairy,  for  the  fine 
instrument.  I  often  reproach  myself  for  not  being  suffi- 
ciently grateful.  On  the  other  hand  I  am  afraid  of  weary- 
ing you  with  my  reiterated  assurance  of  gratitude." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 
"FLORENCE,  November  2^th  (December  6M),  1878. 

"  In  the  evening  I  often  pace  my  verandah  and  enjoy  the 
utter  stillness.  That  strikes  you  as  peculiar:  how  can 
anyone  enjoy  the  absence  of  all  sound,  you  will  ask  ?  If 
you  were  a  musician,  perhaps  you,  too,  would  have  the  gift 
of  hearing,  when  all  is  still  in  the  dead  silence  of  night,  the 
deep  bass  note  which  seems  to  come  from  the  earth  in  its 
flight  through  space.  But  this  is  nonsense  !  " 


326  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  FLORENCE,  November  26th  (December  8//z),  1878. 
"  Please   send    me   the   Lalo   Concerto   again.     I    only 
looked  through  the  first  movement  attentively,  and  found 
it  rather  insipid.     After  what  you  have  written  I  should 
like  to  run  through  the  work  again. 

"  I  read  Italian  pretty  well,  but  speak  it  badly.  Once 
upon  a  time  I  studied  it  and  could  speak  fluently.  That 
was  in  the  days  of  my  admiration  for  Ristori. 

"  I  place  Massenet  lower  than  Bizet,  Delibes,  or  even 
Saint-Saens,  but  he,  too,  has— like  all  our  French  con- 
temporaries— that  element  of  freshness  which  is  lacking  in 
the  Germans. 

8  p.m. 

"  Modeste's  telegram  was  a  pleasant  surprise.  I  had  no 
idea  the  Symphony  (No.  4)  was  going  to  be  played  yet. 
His  news  of  its  success  is  entirely  trustworthy.  First, 
because  Modeste  knows  that  I  am  not  pleased  when 
people  send  me  exaggerated  reports  of  such  events  ;  and 
secondly  because  the  Scherzo  was  encored — an  undoubted 
proof  of  success.  After  this  news  I  am  entirely  lost  in 
our  Symphony.  All  day  long  I  keep  humming  it,  and 
trying  to  recall  how,  where,  and  under  what  impression 
this  or  that  part  of  it  was  composed.  I  go  back  to  two 
years  ago,  and  return  to  the  present  with  joy !  What  a 
change !  What  has  not  happened  during  these  years ! 
When  I  began  to  work  at  the  Symphony  I  hardly  knew 
you  at  all.  I  remember  very  well,  however,  that  I  dedi- 
cated my  work  to  you.  Some  instinct  told  me  that  no  one 
had  such  a  fine  insight  into  my  music  as  yourself,  that  our 
natures  had  much  in  common,  and  that  you  would  under- 
stand the  contents  of  this  Symphony  better  than  any  other 
human  being.  I  love  this  child  of  my  fancy  very  dearly. 
It  is  one  of  the  things  which  will  never  disappoint  me." 

The  success  of  the  Fourth  Symphony,  at  a  concert  of 
the  Russian  Musical  Society  in  St.  Petersburg,  on  Novem- 
ber 25th  (December  /th),  was  most  brilliant,  and  the  Press 
was  almost  unanimous  in  its  acknowledgment  of  the  fact. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 


327 


To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  November  27^  (December  gtti),  1878. 

"  Permit  me,  dear  friend,  to  give  you  my  opinion  of  Lalo's 
Concerto,  which  I  have  played  through  several  times,  and 
begin  to  know  pretty  thoroughly.  Lalo  is  very  talented, 
there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  but  he  is  either  a  very  young 
man — because  all  his  deficiencies  may  be  referred  to  a 
certain  immaturity  of  style — or  he  will  not  go  far,  since, 
in  a  man  of  ripe  age,  these  deficiencies  point  to  an  organic, 
incurable  fault.  I  do  not  consider  the  Concerto  as  good  as 
the  '  Spanish  Symphony.'  All  that  was  wild,  lawless,  and 
rhapsodical  in  the  latter — which  I  attributed  to  the  oriental 
and  Moorish  character  of  the  Spanish  melodies — is  to  be 
found  also  in  the  Concerto,  which,  however,  is  not  at  all 
Spanish.  Let  us  analyse  the  first  movement.  It  does  not 
consist  of  two  themes,  as  is  usually  the  case,  but  of  several 
— of  five,  in  fact. 


fnV  4      f 

/*            Z 

*   j 

*  * 

I  go  4    A 

i  r 

9      i 

ri-j- 

<w 

-r^r 

rff  r 

—  r-H  E 

-ff 

-j 

IfBE 

A            1 

EgH  — 

i 

*__3* 

Iff 

» 

f  -f   r 

__  1  L 

P^ 

=M-t 

^_ 

=^ 

L.     i  1  — 

pfi^ 

"  This  is  too  much.     A  musical  work  must  be  digestible, 
and  should  not  consist  of  too  many  ingredients.     Then, 


328 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


of  these  themes,  only  the  fifth  can  be  considered  successful. 
The  rest  are  colourless,  or,  like  the  second,  made  up 
of  scraps,  which  have  no  organic  unity  and  lack  definite 
outline.  Thirdly,  every  one  of  these  themes,  except  the 
fifth,  shows  a  monotonous  method,  which  occurs  only  too 
often  in  the  '  Spanish  Symphony ' :  the  alternation  of 
rhythms  of  3  and  2.  If  a  man  cannot  keep  his  inspira- 
tion within  the  limits  of  balanced  form,  then  he  should 
strive,  at  least,  to  vary  the  rhythms  of  his  themes ;  in  this 
Concerto  the  rhythmical  treatment  is  monotonous.  I  will 
say  nothing  about  the  laboured  way  in  which  the  various 
episodes  follow  one  another ;  it  would  take  us  too  far 
afield.  Then  as  to  harmony.  The  Concerto  is  full  of  queer, 
wild  harmonies.  In  a  modest  violin  Concerto  such  spicy 
condiments  are  out  of  place ;  but  apart  from  that,  I  must 
say  they  have  a  kind  of  crude  character,  because  they  are 
not  the  outcome  of  the  essential  musical  idea,  but  are 
forced  upon  it,  like  a  schoolboy's  bravado  put  on  for  his 
teacher's  benefit.  Other  passages — also  in  the  schoolboy 
style — are  really  rather  slovenly,  so  to  speak.  For  instance, 
this  '  smudge '  a  la  Moussorgsky,  which  occurs  twice  over : 


i 


Ir-^ 

...p. 

,  ..- 

1 

—  £  —  ^ 

>-  f    f 

n 

i  —  u-  ^  —  f 

1      1     ' 

"  If  we  play  this  horrible  combination  in  quavers  we  get 
the  following : — 


I 


fy  jff  2    II  gf 
«  *v  3-       t^9 


"  This  is  repulsive,  and  quite  unnecessary,  because  it  is 
based  upon  nothing,  and  at  first  I  took  it  for  a  misprint. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  329 

Do  not  imagine,  my  friend,  that  it  is  the  pedantic  harmony 
master  who  speaks  thus.  I  myself  am  very  partial  to 
dissonant  combinations,  when  they  have  a  motive,  and  are 
rightly  used.  But  there  are  limits  which  must  not  be 
overstepped.  Now,  to  enter  into  technical  details,  let  me 
say  that  no  breach  of  the  laws  of  harmony,  no  matter 
whether  it  is  harsh  or  not,  really  sounds  well  unless  it  has 
been  made  under  the  influence  of  the  melodic  origin.  In 
other  words,  a  dissonance  should  only  be  resolved  harmoni- 
cally, or  melodically.  If  neither  of  these  courses  is  adopted, 
we  merely  get  abominations  d  la  Moussorgsky.  In  the 
example  cited  above  I  might  possibly  be  reconciled  to 
the  painful  dissonance  if,  in  the  next  bar,  each  part  fol- 
lowed the  melodic  plan.  But  this  is  not  the  case  with 
Lalo.  With  him  abomination  follows  abomination.  Now 
that  I  have  done  scolding,  I  will  say  something  good. 
The  various  movements,  although  disconnected,  show 
warmth  and  many  beautiful  details  of  harmony.  On  the 
whole  the  music  has  a  piquant  character. peculiarly  French, 
although  not  nearly  so  elegant  as  Bizet's  work." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FLORENCE,  November  2$>th  (December  10^),  1878. 

"  Yesterday's  performance  at  Pergola  left  a  sad  impres- 
sion upon  me.  What  a  deterioration  Italian  music  has 
suffered!  What  commonplace,  yet  pretentious  stuff! 
What  an  incredibly  poor  performance  as  regards  orchestra 
and  chorus !  The  staging,  too,  was  wretched.  Such 
scenery  in  the  town  where  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo 
once  lived ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"FLORENCE,  December  $th  (17^),  1878. 

"  A  great  number  of  my  works  I  regard  as  weak. 
Several  of  these  (the  minority)  have  been  published. 
Of  those  unpublished,  many  no  longer  exist,  such  as  the 
operas  Undine  and  The  Voyevode  (which  were  never  per- 
formed), the  symphonic  fantasia  Fatum,  a  Festival  overture 
on  the  Danish  National  Hymn,  and  a  cantata;  but  you 
are  welcome  to  those  I  have  kept,  in  order  to  complete 


330  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

your  collection.  They  are  very  poor,  although  they 
contain  some  episodes  and  details  I  should  be  sorry  to 
see  disappear  for  ever. 

"  Laroche  does  not  call  me  the  enemy  of  programme 
music,  but  thinks  I  have  no  gift  for  this  kind  of  work  ; 
therefore  he  describes  me  as  an  anti-programme  composer. 
He  takes  every  opportunity  of  expressing  his  regret  that 
I  so  frequently  compose  programme  music.  What  is  pro- 
gramme music  ?  Since  for  you  and  me  a  mere  pattern  of 
sounds  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  music  at  all,  all  music 
is  programme  music  from  our  point  of  view.  In  the 
limited  sense  of  the  word,  however,  it  means  symphonic, 
or,  more  generally,  instrumental  music  which  illustrates 
a  definite  subject,  and  bears  the  title  of  this  subject. 
Beethoven  partly  invented  programme  music  in  the 
'Eroica'  symphony,  but  the  idea  is  still  more  evident  in 
the  'Pastoral.'  The  true  founder  of  programme  music, 
however,  was  Berlioz,  every  one  of  whose  works  not  only 
bears  a  definite  title,  but  appears  with  a  detailed  explana- 
tion. Laroche  is  entirely  opposed  to  a  programme.  He 
thinks  the  composer  should  leave  the  hearer  to  interpret 
the  meaning  of  the  work  as  he  pleases ;  that  the  pro- 
gramme limits  his  freedom  ;  that  music  is  incapable  of 
expressing  the  concrete  phenomena  of  the  physical  and 
mental  world.  Nevertheless,  he  ranks  Berlioz  very  highly, 
declares  him  to  be  an  altogether  rare  genius  and  his  music 
exemplary ;  but,  all  the  same,  he  considers  his  programmes 
superfluous.  If  you  care  to  hear  my  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject, I  will  give  it  in  a  few  words.  I  think  the  inspiration 
of  a  symphonic  work  can  be  of  two  kinds :  subjective  or 
objective.  In  the  first  instance  it  expresses  the  personal 
emotion  of  joy  or  sorrow,  as  when  the  lyric  poet  lets  his 
soul  flow  out  in  verse.  Here  a  programme  is  not  only 
unnecessary,  but  impossible.  It  is  very  different  when  the 
composer's  inspiration  is  stirred  by  the  perusal  of  some 
poem,  or  by  the  sight  of  a  fine  landscape,  and  he  en- 
deavours to  express  his  impressions  in  musical  forms.  In 
this  case  a  programme  is  indispensable,  and  it  is  a  pity 
Beethoven  did  not  affix  one  to  the  sonata  you  mention. 
To  my  mind,  both  kinds  of  music  have  their  raison  d'etre, 
and  I  cannot  understand  those  who  will  only  admit  one  of 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  331 

these  styles.  Of  course,  every  subject  is  not  equally  suit- 
able for  a  symphony,  any  more  than  for  an  opera ;  but, 
all  the  same,  programme  music  can  and  must  exist.  Who 
would  insist  in  literature  upon  ignoring  the  epic  and 
admitting  only  the  lyric  element?" 


Ill 

Shortly  after  writing  the  above  letter  Tchaikovsky  left 
Florence  for  Paris.  He  did  not  remain  there  any  length 
of  time,  but  went  to  Clarens  on  December  28th  in  order 
to  work  at  The  Maid  of  Orleans  in  the  quiet  atmosphere 
of  the  Villa  Richelieu. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"CLARENS,  December  31^  (January  \2th\  1878. 
"  To-day  I  began  to  work,  and  wrote  out  the  first  chorus 
of  the  first  act.  The  composition  of  this  work  is  rendered 
more  difficult  because  I  have  no  ready-made  libretto,  and 
have  not  yet  come  to  any  definite  plan  as  to  the  general 
outline.  Meanwhile,  only  the  text  for  the  first  act  is  com- 
plete. This  I  have  written  myself,  keeping  as  far  as 
possible  to  Joukovsky's  version,  although  I  have  drawn 
upon  other  sources :  Barbier,  for  instance,  whose  tragedy 
has  many  good  points.  I  find  the  versification  very 
difficult." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  CLARENS,  January  StA  (20^),  1879. 

"  I  am  very  well  pleased  with  my  musical  work.  As 
regards  the  literary  side  of  it,  I  believe  it  will  cost  me 
some  days  of  my  life.  I  cannot  describe  how  it  exhausts 
me.  How  many  penholders  I  gnaw  to  pieces  before  a 
few  lines  grow  perfect !  How  often  I  jump  up  in  sheer 
despair  because  I  cannot  find  a  rhyme,  or  the  metre  goes 
wrong,  or  because  I  have  absolutely  no  notion  what  this 
or  that  character  would  say  at  a  particular  moment !  As 
regards  rhyme,  I  think  it  would  be  a  blessing  if  someone 


332  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

would  publish  a  rhyming  dictionary.  If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, there  is  one  in  German,  and  perhaps  in  Russian  too, 
but  I  am  not  sure  of  it." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 
"  CLARENS,  January  14^(26^),  1879. 

"  There  exist,  as  you  are  aware,  three  remarkable  per- 
sonages, whom  you  know  intimately :  the  feeble  poetaster 
N.  N.,1  who  has  written  a  few  verses  for  your  editions  of 
Russian  songs ;  B.  L.,2  formerly  musical  critic  of  the 
Russky  Viedomosti,  and  the  composer  and  ex-professor, 
Mr.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  An  hour  or  two  ago  Mr.  Tchaikovsky  invited  the  two 
other  gentlemen — who  live  with  him — to  follow  him  to  the 
piano,  and  played  them  the  second  act  of  his  new  opera 
The  Maid  of  Orleans.  Mr.  Tchaikovsky,  who  is  on  very 
intimate  terms  with  Messrs.  N.  N.  and  B.  L.,  conquered 
his  timidity  without  much  difficulty,  and  played  his  new 
work  with  great  skill  and  inspiration.  You  should  have 
seen  the  enthusiasm  of  these  two  gentlemen !  Anyone 
might  have  supposed  they  had  some  share  in  the  composi- 
tion of  the  opera,  to  see  how  they  strutted  about  the  room 
and  admired  the  music.  Finally,  the  composer,  who  had 
long  tried  to  preserve  his  modesty  intact,  was  infected  by 
their  enthusiasm,  and  all  three  rushed  on  to  the  balcony, 
as  though  possessed,  to  cool  their  disordered  nerves  and 
control  their  wild  desire  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  opera  as 
soon  as  possible.  In  vain  Messrs.  N.  N.  and  B.  L.  en- 
deavoured to  persuade  Mr.  Tchaikovsky  that  operas  could 
not  be  tossed  out  like  pancakes,  the  latter  began  to 
despair  over  the  weakness  of  human  nature  and  the 
impossibility  of  transferring  to  paper  in  a  single  night 
all  that  had  long  been  seething  in  his  brain.  Finally, 
the  good  folks  induced  the  insane  composer  to  calm  him- 
self, and  he  sat  down  to  write  to  a  certain  publisher  in 
Moscow.  .  .  ." 

1  The  initials  under  which  Tchaikovsky  translated  the  German  words  of 
Rubinstein's  songs. 

Tchaikovsky's  signature  to  his  articles  in  the  Russky  Viedomosti. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  333 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"January  2Qth  (February  ist),  1879. 

"  Of  the  music  you  sent  me,  I  have  only  played,  as  yet, 
through  the  pieces  by  Grieg  and  two  acts  of  Goldmark's 
opera,  The  Queen  of  Sheba.  I  do  not  know  if  I  ever  told 
you  that  I  bought  Le  Roi  de  Lahore  in  Paris.  Thus  I 
possess  two  operas  of  the  most  modern  French  school. 
Let  me  tell  you,  dear  friend,  that  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
giving  the  preference  to  Le  Roi  de  Lahore.  I  know  you 
do  not  care  very  much  for  Massenet,  and  hitherto  I,  too, 
have  not  felt  drawn  to  him.  His  opera,  however,  has 
captivated  me  by  its  rare  beauty  of  form,  its  simplicity 
and  freshness  of  ideas  and  style,  as  well  by  its  wealth  of 
melody  and  distinction  of  harmony.  Goldmark's  opera 
does  not  greatly  please  me — just  enough  to  interest  me  in 
playing  it  through.  Yet  it  is  the  work  of  a  good  German 
master.  But  all  the  German  composers  of  the  present  day 
write  laboriously,  with  pretensions  to  depth  of  thought, 
and  strive  to  atone  for  their  extraordinary  poverty  of  in- 
vention by  exaggerated  colouring.  For  instance,  the  duet 
in  the  second  act.  How  unvocal !  How  little  freedom  it 
gives  to  the  singer  !  What  insipid  melodies  !  Massenet's 
love  duet,  on  the  contrary,  is  far  simpler,  but  a  thousand 
times  fresher,  more  beautiful,  more  melodious.  .  .  . 

"  Learn  to  know  this  opera,  dear  friend,  and  give  me 
your  opinion  upon  it. 

"  My  work  progresses.  I  am  composing  the  first  scene 
of  Act  III." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
11  CLARENS,  January  2$th  (February  $th\  1879. 

"  Do  not  be  surprised  if  my  letter  is  somewhat  in- 
coherent. I  am  very  tired  after  my  day's  work.  To-day 
I  wrote  the  love  duet  in  the  second  act,  and  it  is  very 
complicated,  so  that  at  the  present  moment  my  brain  works 
with  difficulty.  I  jumped  from  the  first  scene  of  the  third 
act  to  the  fourth,  because  it  is  not  so  easy,  and  I  wanted 
to  get  the  most  difficult  scene — between  Lionel  and  Joan 
— off  my  mind.  On  the  whole  I  am  pleased  with  myself, 
but  feel  rather  exhausted.  In  Paris,  I  will  rest  by  returning 


334  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

to  my  Suite  and  leaving  the  two  remaining  scenes  of  the 
opera  until  my  return  to  Russia. 

"  I  have  added  a  new  joy  to  life.  In  Geneva  I  bought 
the  pianoforte  arrangements  of  several  Mozart  and  Beet- 
hoven quartets,  and  I  play  one  every  evening.  You  have 
no  idea  how  I  enjoy  this,  and  how  it  refreshes  me !  I 
would  give  anything  for  my  Maid  of  Orleans  to  turn  out 
as  good  as  Le  Roi  de  Lahore" 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"January  2$th  (February  6th\  1879. 

"  I  will  gladly  follow  your  advice  and  write  to  Jurgenson 
to  send  a  copy  of  Eugene  Oniegin  to  Biilow.  Generally 
speaking,  I  never  send  my  works  on  my  own  initiative  to 
musical  celebrities,  but  Biilow  is  an  exception,  because  he 
is  really  interested  in  Russian  music  and  in  me  personally. 
He  is  the  sole  German  musician  who  admits  the  possi- 
bility of  the  Russians  rivalling  the  Germans  as  com- 
posers. Speaking  of  the  German  view  of  our  compatriots, 
I  do  not  think  I  ever  told  you  about  the  fiasco  of  my 
Francesca  in  Berlin  this  winter.  Bilse  gave  it  twice.  The 
second  performance  was  a  daring  act  on  his  part,  since 
after  the  first  hearing  the  entire  Press  was  unanimous  in 
damning  my  unfortunate  fantasia.  .  .  ." 


IV 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"PARIS,  February  6th  (i8//fc),  1879. 

"  Do  you  imagine  I  am  going  to  dish  you  up  my  impres- 
sions of  Paris  ?  *  You  are  mistaken,  friend,'  as  Kashkin  is 
always  saying.  I  only  arrived  early  this  morning.  My 
departure  from  Clarens  was  highly  dramatic.  The  land- 
lady wept ;  the  landlord  shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand ; 
the  maid  (a  very  nice  creature)  also  wept,  so  that  I,  too, 
was  reduced  to  tears.  I  assure  you  I  have  never  been 
so  comfortable  anywhere  abroad  as  there.  If  circum- 
stances permit,  and  no  untoward  changes  occur  in  my 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  335 

life,  I  intend  henceforth  to  spend  a  considerable  part  of 
each  winter  in  Clarens.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"February  loth  (22nd),  1879. 

"  At  the  present  moment  I  am  engaged  upon  the  great 
ensemble  in  the  third  act  (septet  and  chorus),  which  pre- 
sents many  technical  difficulties.  The  first  part  of  the 
septet  is  finished,  and  very  successful,  if  I  am  not  mistaken. 
The  brilliance  and  bustle  of  Paris  have  their  advantages. 
The  variety  of  circumstances  and  impressions  distract  my 
thoughts  from  the  musical  work.  Perhaps  this  is  the 
reason  why  the  number  which  I  expected  to  find  most 
fatiguing  has  proved  comparatively  easy.  For  the  books 
and  music  I  am  very  grateful  to  you.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  /.  Jurgenson. 

"PARIS,  February  i$th  (25^),  1879. 

"  Here  I  live  the  life  of  an  anchorite,  and  only  emerge 
twice  a  day  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  my  stomach  and  take 
a  little  exercise. 

"  Last  Sunday,  however,  I  had  a  real  musical  treat. 
Colonne  conducted  one  of  my  favourite  works — Berlioz's 
Faust.  The  performance  was  excellent.  It  was  so  long 
since  I  had  heard  any  good  music  that  I  was  steeped  in 
bliss,  all  the  more  because  I  was  alone,  with  no  acquaint- 
ances sitting  by  my  side.  What  a  work  ! !  Poor  Berlioz  ! 
As  long  as  he  was  alive  no  one  wanted  to  hear  about  him. 
Now  the  newspapers  call  him  '  the  mighty  Hector.  .  .  .' 
O  God,  how  happy  I  am  now !  Did  I  ever  dream  that  I 
should  enjoy  life  so  much?.  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  igth  (March  $rd),  1879. 

"  My  whole  life  long  I  have  been  a  martyr  to  my  en- 
forced relations  with  society.  By  nature  I  am  a  savage. 
Every  new  acquaintance,  every  fresh  contact  with  strangers, 
has  been  the  source  of  acute  moral  suffering.  It  is  difficult 
to  say  what  is  the  nature  of  this  suffering.  Perhaps  it 


336  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

springs  from  a  shyness  which  has  become  a  mania,  per- 
haps from  absolute  indifference  to  the  society  of  my 
fellows,  or  perhaps  the  difficulty  of  saying,  without  effort, 
things  about  oneself  that  one  does  not  really  think  (for 
social  intercourse  involves  this) — in  short,  I  do  not  really 
know  what  it  is.  So  long  as  I  was  not  in  a  position  to 
avoid  such  intercourse,  I  went  into  society,  pretended  to 
enjoy  myself,  played  a  certain  part  (since  it  is  absolutely 
indispensable  to  social  existence),  and  suffered  horribly  all 
the  time.  I  could  wax  eloquent  on  the  subject.  .  .  .  To 
cut  a  long  story  short,  however,  I  will  merely  tell  you  that 
two  years  ago  Count  Leo  Tolstoi,  the  writer,  expressed  a 
wish  to  make  my  acquaintance.  He  takes  a  great  interest 
in  music.  Of  course,  I  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  escape 
from  him,  but  without  success.  He  came  to  the  Conserva- 
toire and  told  Rubinstein  he  had  not  left  the  town  because 
he  wanted  to  meet  me.  Tolstoi  is  very  sympathetic  to- 
wards my  musical  gifts.  It  was  impossible  to  avoid  his 
acquaintance,  which  was  obviously  flattering  and  agreeable. 
We  met,  and  I,  assuming  the  part  of  a  man  who  is  im- 
mensely gratified,  said  I  was  very  happy — most  grateful — 
a  whole  series  of  indispensable  but  insincere  phrases.  { I 
want  to  know  you  better/  he  said  ;  *  I  should  like  to  talk  to 
you  about  music.'  Then  and  there,  after  we  had  shaken 
hands,  he  began  to  give  me  his  musical  views.  He  con- 
siders Beethoven  lacks  inspiration.  We  started  with  this. 
Thus  this  writer  of  genius,  this  searcher  of  human  hearts, 
began  by  asserting,  in  a  tone  of  complete  assurance,  what 
was  most  offensive  to  the  stupidity  of  the  musician. 
What  is  to  be  done  under  such  circumstances?  Discuss? 
Yes,  I  discussed.  But  could  such  a  discussion  be  regarded 
as  serious  ?  Properly  speaking,  I  ought  to  have  felt 
honoured  by  his  notice.  Probably  another  would  have 
been.  I  merely  felt  uncomfortable,  and  continued  to  enact 
the  comedy — pretending  to  be  grateful  and  in  earnest. 
Afterwards  he  called  upon  me  several  times,  and  although 
after  this  meeting  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Tolstoi,  if 
somewhat  paradoxical,  was  straightforward,  good,  and  in 
his  way  had  even  a  fine  taste  for  music,  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  I  had  no  more  to  gain  from  his  acquaintance  than 
from  that  of  any  other  man. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  337 

"  The  society  of  another  fellow-creature  is  only  pleasant 
when  a  long-standing  intimacy,  or  common  interests,  make 
it  possible  to  dispense  with  all  effort.  Unless  this  is  the 
case,  society  is  a  burden  which  I  was  never  intended  by 
nature  to  endure. 

"  This  is  the  reason,  dear  friend,  why  I  have  not  called 
upon  Tourgeniev.  There  are  numbers  of  people  I  might 
visit  here.  Saint-Saens,  for  instance,  on  whom  I  promised 
to  call  whenever  I  was  in  Paris.  Anyone  else  in  my 
place  would  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  local  musicians. 
It  is  a  pity  I  cannot,  for  I  lose  a  good  deal  by  my  mis- 
anthropy. Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  have  struggled 
against  this  weakness,  how  hard  I  have  contended  with  my 
strange  temperament  in  this  respect ! 

"  Now  I  am  at  rest.  I  am  finally  convinced  that  at  my 
age  it  is  useless  to  continue  my  education.  I  assure  you  I 
have  been  very  happy  since  I  drew  into  my  shell,  and  since 
music  and  books  became  my  faithful  and  inseparable  com- 
panions. As  to  intercourse  with  famous  people,  I  know 
from  experience  that  their  works,  musical  or  literary,  are 
far  more  interesting  than  their  personalities." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  February  22nd  (March  6M),  1879. 

"  DEAR  MODI, — Yesterday  was  a  very  important  day 
for  me.  Quite  unexpectedly  I  finished  the  opera.  When 
you  have  written  the  last  word  of  a  novel  you  will  under- 
stand what  a  joy  it  is  to  feel  such  a  weight  off  your  mind. 
To  squeeze  music  out  of  one's  brain  every  day  for  ten 
weeks  is  indeed  an  exhausting  process.  Now  I  can  breathe 
freely ! 

"Yesterday  evening  I  walked  about  Paris  feeling  quite 
another  man.  I  even  sauntered,  and  perhaps  that  is  why  my 
old  love  for  the  place  is  reawakened.  Perhaps,  too,  the  fact 
that  Colonne  intends  to  give  my  Tempest  at  the  next  Sun- 
day concert  has  something  to  do  with  it.  Now  I  see  my 
name  on  all  the  hoardings  and  posters  I  feel  quite  at  home. 
I  will  confess  that  although  I  am  pleased,  yet  I  am  also 
rather  anxious.  I  know  beforehand  that  it  will  not  be  well 
played,  and  will  be  hissed  by  the  public — the  invariable 


338  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

fate  of  all  my  compositions  abroad.  Therefore  it  would  be 
better  if  the  performance  took  place  after  I  have  left  Paris. 
It  cannot  be  helped,  however.  I  shall  have  to  endure  some 
misery  on  Sunday,  but  not  much,  because  I  am  only  here 
as  a  bird  of  passage,  and  I  know  that  the  time  is  coming 
when  I  need  not  endure  any  more. 

"In  any  case,  yesterday  and  to-day  I  have  strutted 
through  the  streets  of  Paris  like  a  cock,  and  comforted 
myself  with  the  feeling  that  I  need  not  work.  You  would 
never  have  recognised  your  brother  in  a  new  overcoat,  silk 
hat,  and  elegant  gloves.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  24^  (March  8M),  1879. 

"Yesterday  I  saw  UAssomoir.  It  is  interesting  to  sit 
through  this  piece,  for  it  is  highly  entertaining  to  see  washer- 
women getting  up  linen  in  the  second  scene,  all  the  char- 
acters dead  drunk  in  the  sixth,  and  in  the  eighth,  the  death 
of  a  confirmed  toper  in  an  attack  of  delirium  tremens. 
The  play  deals  a  double  blow  at  that  feeling  for  beauty 
which  exists  in  us  all.  First,  it  is  adapted  from  a  novel 
written  by  a  talented,  but  cynical,  man  who  chooses  to 
wallow  in  human  filth,  moral  and  physical.  Secondly,  to 
make  it  more  effective  and  pander  to  the  taste  of  the 
Boulevard  public,  a  melodramatic  element  has  been  brought 
into  the  play  which  is  not  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  it. 
In  this  way  LAssomoir  loses  on  the  stage  its  chief  merit — 
the  wonderfully  realistic  presentment  of  everyday  life. 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  Monsieur  Zola,  the  high 
priest  of  the  realistic  cult,  the  austere  critic  who  recognises 
no  literary  art  but  his  own,  when  he  allows  perfectly  unreal 
and  improbable  episodes  and  characters  to  be  tacked  on  to 
his  play — all  for  the  sake  of  a  royalty  ?  " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"PARIS,  February  zbth  (March  io/^),  1879. 

"Yesterday  was  a  very  exciting  day.  In  the  morning 
at  the  Chatelet  Concert  the  performance  of  my  Tempest 
took  place.  The  agonies  I  endured  are  the  best  proof  that 
a  country  life  is  the  most  tolerable  for  me.  What  used  to 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  339 

be  a  pleasure — the  hearing  of  one  of  my  own  works — has 
now  become  a  source  of  misery.  The  evening  before  I 
began  to  suffer  from  colic  and  nausea.  My  agitation  con- 
tinued to  grow  crescendo  until  the  opening  chords,  and 
while  the  work  was  proceeding  I  felt  I  should  die  of  the 
pain  in  my  heart.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  failure  with  the 
public,  but  because  lately  the  first  hearing  of  all  my  works 
has  brought  me  the  sharpest  disappointment.  Mendels- 
sohn's Reformation  symphony  preceded  The  Tempest,  and 
all  the  time  I  was  admiring  this  fine  masterpiece.  I  have 
not  attained  to  the  rank  of  a  master.  I  still  write  like  a 
gifted  young  man  from  whom  much  is  to  be  expected. 
What  surprised  me  chiefly  was  the  fact  that  my  orchestra- 
tion sounded  so  poor.  Of  course,  my  reason  told  me  I  was 
exaggerating  my  own  defects,  but  this  was  no  great  con- 
solation. The  Tempest  was  not  badly  played.  The  orches- 
tra took  pains,  but  showed  no  warmth  of  enthusiasm.  One 
member  of  the  band  (a  'cellist)  kept  staring,  smiling,  and 
nodding  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say :  '  Excuse  our  playing 
such  an  extraordinary  work ;  it  is  not  our  fault ;  we  are 
ordered  to  play  it,  and  we  obey.'  After  the  last  bars  had 
died  away,  there  followed  some  feeble  applause,  mingled 
with  two  or  three  audible  hisses,  at  which  the  whole  room 
broke  out  into  exclamations  of  'O  !  O !'  which  were  intended 
as  a  kindly  protest  against  the  hisses.  Then  came  silence. 
The  whole  business  passed  over  me  without  leaving  any 
special  bitterness.  I  was  only  vexed  to  feel  that  The 
Tempest,  which  I  have  hitherto  regarded  as  one  of  my 
most  brilliant  works,  is  in  reality  so  unimportant.  I  left 
the  room  and,  as  the  weather  was  very  fine,  took  a  two 
hours'  stroll.  On  returning  home  I  wrote  a  card  to  Colonne, 
telling  him  that  I  could  only  remain  another  day  in  Paris, 
and  could  not  therefore  call  to  thank  him  personally. 

"  I  must  soon  leave  Paris.  I  am  reconciled  to  the  failure 
of  The  Tempest.  I  speak  of  it  as  a  failure  to  myself,  but  I 
console  myself  with  the  thought  that  after  the  opera  and 
the  Suite  I  shall  at  last  compose  a  fine  symphonic  work. 
And  so,  in  all  probability,  I  shall  strive  for  mastery  until 
my  last  breath,  without  ever  attaining  it.  Something  is 
lacking  in  me — I  can  feel  it— but  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done." 


340  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

The  Gazette  Musicale  published  Tchaikovsky's  letter  to 
Colon ne,  which  ran  as  follows : — 

"  SIR, — As  luck  would  have  it,  I  came  to  Paris  for  one 
day  only,  the  very  one  upon  which  you  presented  my 
Tempest  to  the  public.  I  was  at  the  Chatelet.  I  heard  it, 
and  hasten  to  thank  you  for  the  kind  and  flattering  at- 
tention bestowed  on  my  music,  and  for  your  fine  interpre- 
tation of  my  difficult  and  ungrateful  work.  I  also  send  my 
hearty  thanks  to  the  members  of  your  splendid  orchestra 
for  the  trouble  they  took  to  interpret  every  detail  of  the 
score  in  the  most  artistic  way. 

"  As  to  the  feeble  applause  and  somewhat  energetic 
hisses  with  which  the  public  greeted  my  unlucky  Tempest, 
they  affected  me  deeply,  but  did  not  surprise  me — I 
expected  them.  If  a  certain  degree  of  prejudice  against 
our  Muscovite  barbarity  had  something  to  do  with  this, 
the  intrinsic  defects  of  the  work  itself  are  also  to  blame. 
The  form  is  diffuse  and  lacking  in  proportion.  In  any 
case  the  performance  which,  as  I  have  said,  was  excellent, 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  failure  of  the  work. 

"  I  should  certainly  have  gone  round  to  shake  hands 
with  you  and  express  my  gratitude  in  person,  had  not 
the  state  of  my  health  prevented  my  doing  so.  I  am  only 
passing  through  Paris.  I  am  obliged  therefore,  dear  sir, 
to  have  recourse  to  my  pen,  in  order  to  convey  to  you  my 
thanks.  Rest  assured  that  my  gratitude  will  not  be  effaced 

from  my  heart.  „  ,r         ,  , 

"  Your  devoted 

"  P.  T." 

In  publishing  this  letter,  the  Gazette  Musicale  preceded 
it  by  a  few  lines  in  praise  of  "  this  rare  witness  to  the  noble 
and  sincere  modesty  of  a  composer." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  i^th  (March  nth),  1879. 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  read  Rousseau's 
Confessions.  I  do  not  know  if  I  ought  to  recommend  the 
book  to  you,  supposing  you  have  never  read  it,  for  side  by 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  341 

side  with  passages  of  genius,  it  contains  much  cynical  in- 
formation which  makes  it  almost  unfit  for  a  woman  to 
read.  Nevertheless  I  cannot  help  admiring  the  astonishing 
strength  and  beauty  of  style,  as  well  as  the  true  and  pro- 
found analysis  of  the  human  soul.  Apart  from  this,  I 
find  an  indescribable  delight  in  recognising  features  in  my 
own  character  which  I  have  never  met  with  before  in  any 
literary  work,  and  which  are  here  described  with  extra- 
ordinary subtlety.  For  instance,  he  explains  why,  being  a 
clever  man,  he  never  succeeds  in  giving  any  impression 
of  his  cleverness  when  in  society.  He  speaks  of  his  mis- 
anthropical tendencies,  and  of  the  unbearable  necessity  of 
keeping  up  forced  conversations,  when,  in  order  to  keep 
the  ball  rolling,  one  is  obliged  to  pour  forth  empty  words 
which  in  no  way  express  the  result  of  intellectual  work,  or 
spiritual  impulse.  How  subtle  and  true  are  his  remarks 
upon  the  scourge  of  social  life." 

At  the  beginning  of  March  Tchaikovsky  returned  to 
St.  Petersburg.  As  invariably  happened  when  his  solitude 
was  interrupted  and  a  break  in  his  work  occurred,  he  now 
passed  through  a  period  of  depression  and  discontent  with 
his  surroundings,  which  were  actually  in  no  way  to  blame 
for  his  frame  of  mind. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

" March  i$th  (25^),  1879. 

"...  On  Friday  I  go  to  Moscow  with  my  brothers  to 
attend  the  first  performance  of  Eugene  Oniegin,  after 
which  I  shall  return  to  Petersburg,  where  I  remain  until 
Easter." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PETERSBURG,  March  igth  (si*/),  1879. 
"  I  have  just  returned  from  Moscow.  Instead  of  leaving 
on  Friday,  I  went  on  Wednesday,  because  Jurgenson  tele- 
graphed that  my  presence  was  required  at  the  last 
rehearsal.  I  arrived  just  before  the  costume  rehearsal 
took  place.  The  stage  was  fully  lighted,  but  the  hall 


342  LIFE   AND    LETTERS    OF 

itself  was  quite  dark,  which  gave  me  the  opportunity  of 
concealing  myself  in  a  corner  and  listening  to  the  opera 
undisturbed.  On  the  whole  the  performance  was  very 
satisfactory.  The  orchestra  and  chorus  got  through  their 
business  splendidly.  The  soloists,  on  the  other  hand,  left 
much  to  be  desired.  .  .  . 

"  These  hours,  spent  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  theatre, 
were  the  only  pleasant  ones  during  my  visit  to  Moscow. 
Between  the  acts  I  saw  all  my  former  colleagues  once 
more.  I  observed  with  delight  that  the  music  of  Oniegin 
seemed  to  win  their  favour.  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  who  is 
so  parsimonious  in  praise,  told  me  that  he  had  '  fallen  in 
love'  with  it.  After  the  first  act  Taneiev  wanted  to 
express  his  sympathy,  instead  of  which  he  burst  into 
tears.  I  cannot  really  tell  you  how  this  touched  me. 
.  .  .  On  Saturday  (the  day  of  the  performance)  my 
brothers  and  a  few  other  Petersburgers,  among  them 
Anton  Rubinstein,  arrived  early. 

"  Throughout  the  day  I  was  greatly  excited,  especially 
as  I  had  yielded  to  Nicholas  Rubinstein's  entreaty  and 
declared  my  willingness  to  come  before  the  curtain  in  case 
I  should  be  called  for. 

"  During  the  performance  my  excitement  reached  its 
zenith.  Before  it  began,  Nicholas  Rubinstein  invited  me 
behind  the  scenes,  where,  to  my  horror,  I  found  myself 
confronted  by  the  whole  Conservatoire.  At  the  head  of 
the  professors  stood .  Nicholas  Grigorievich  himself,  who 
handed  me  a  wreath,  amid  the  hearty  applause  of  the 
bystanders.  Of  course  I  had  to  say  a  few  words  in  answer 
to  Rubinstein's  speech.  God  knows  what  it  cost  me ! 
Between  the  acts  I  was  recalled  several  times.  I  have 
never  seen  such  an  enthusiastic  audience.  I  draw  this 
conclusion  from  the  fact  that  it  was  invariably  myself — not 
the  performers — who  received  a  recall. 

"After  the  performance  there  was  a  supper  at  'The  Her- 
mitage/ at  which  even  Anton  Rubinstein  was  present.  I 
have  absolutely  no  idea  whether  my  Oniegin  pleased 
him  or  not.  He  never  said  a  word  to  me  on  the  subject. 
It  was  4  a.m.  before  I  returned  home  with  a  splitting  head- 
ache, and  spent  a  wretched  night.  I  recovered  during  the 
return  journey  to  Petersburg,  and  to-day  I  feel  quite 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  343 

refreshed.  I  shall  try  not  to  go  out  during  the  next  fort- 
night, but  to  give  myself  up  in  earnest  to  the  instrumenta- 
tion of  my  Suite." 

To  Tchaikovsky's  account  of  the  first  performance,  I  can 
only  add  my  personal  impression  that  the  actual  success  of 
the  opera  was  poor,  and  the  ovation  given  to  my  brother 
was  rather  in  consideration  of  former  services  than  in 
honour  of  the  music  itself,  which  had  only  a  moderate 
success. 

This  cool  reception  of  a  work,  afterwards  to  become  one 
of  Tchaikovsky's  most  popular  operas,  can  be  accounted  for 
in  the  first  place  by  its  indifferent  interpretation.  It  had 
been  carefully  prepared,  but  was  entrusted  to  inexperienced 
students  of  the  Conservatoire,  instead  of  mature  artists; 
consequently  the  work  was  not  represented  in  its  best 
light.  The  comparatively  recent  period  of  the  tale,  and 
the  audacity  of  the  librettist  in  representing  upon  the  stage 
the  almost  canonised  personality  of  Tatiana,  and,  what 
was  still  worse,  the  additions  made  to  Poushkin's  incom- 
parable poem — all  contributed  to  set  public  taste  against 
the  opera.  Besides  which,  both  libretto  and  music  lacked 
those  dramatic  incidents  which  generally  evoke  the  public 
enthusiasm. 

Respecting  Anton  Rubinstein's  judgment  of  Eugene 
Oniegin,  the  widow  of  the  great  pianist  said  that  her  hus- 
band was  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  opera  at  the  first 
hearing.  On  his  return  to  Petersburg  he  criticised  the 
work  from  beginning  to  end,  and  declared  it  to  be  utterly 
wanting  in  the  "  grand  opera  style."  Some  years  later  he 
altered  his  opinion,  and  when  his  wife  reminded  him  of  the 
first  failure  of  the  work,  replied :  "  What  do  you  know 
about  it?  No  one  who  has  been  brought  up  upon  gipsy 
songs  and  Italian  opera  has  any  right  to  criticise  such 
a  composition." 

With  the  exception  of  Laroche,  most  of  the  critics  praised 
Eugene  Oniegin,  although  without  much  enthusiasm. 


344  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

V 

Early  in  April  Tchaikovsky  left  Petersburg  for  Kamenka. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  April  \$th  (26^),  1879. 

"  My  opera  reposes  for  the  time  being  in  my  portfolio. 
I  am  working  at  the  Suite.  To-day  I  finished  the  score, 
and  to-morrow  I  shall  start  upon  the  arrangement  for  four 
hands.  ... 

"I  have  another  fortnight's  work  to  bestow  upon  the 
Suite.  At  Brailov  I  shall  be  able  to  give  myself  up  entirely 
to  my  increasing  love  of  nature.  There  is  no  other  spot  in 
the  world  which  can  offer  me  so  much  in  this  respect.  To 
live  in  your  house,  to  feel  myself  free  and  alone,  to  be  able 
to  visit  the  forests  every  day  and  wander  all  day  among 
the  flowers,  to  listen  to  the  nightingale  at  night,  to  read 
your  books,  play  upon  your  instruments  and  think  of 
you — these  are  joys  I  cannot  find  elsewhere." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"  KAMENKA,  April  22nd  (May  tfh),  1879. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  be  proud  of  my  works,  now  that  I 
see  what  an  extraordinary  effect  some  of  them  make. 
Everyone  here  is  crazy  over  the  Andante,  and  when  I 
played  it  with  my  brother  as  a  pianoforte  duet,  one  girl 
fainted  away  (this  is  a  fact  ! !).  To  make  the  fair  sex 
faint  is  the  highest  triumph  to  which  any  composer  can 
attain." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  $th  (17^),  1879. 

"  Yesterday  I  began  to  study  the  score  of  Lohengrin.  I 
know  you  are  no  great  admirer  of  Wagner,  and  I,  too,  am 
far  from  being  a  desperate  Wagnerite.  I  am  not  very 
sympathetic  to  Wagnerism  as  a  principle.  Wagner's  per- 
sonality arouses  my  antipathy,  yet  I  must  do  justice  to  his 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  345 

great  musical  gift.  This  reaches  its  climax  in  Lohengrin, 
which  will  always  remain  the  crown  of  all  his  works. 
After  Lohengrin,  began  the  deterioration  of  his  talent, 
which  was  ruined  by  his  diabolical  vanity.  He  lost  all 
sense  of  proportion,  and  began  to  overstep  all  limits,  so 
that  everything  he  composed  after  Lohengrin  became  in- 
comprehensible, impossible  music  which  has  no  future. 
What  chiefly  interests  me  in  Lohengrin  at  present  is  the 
orchestration.  In  view  of  the  work  which  lies  before  me, 
I  want  to  study  this  score  very  closely,  and  decide  whether 
to  adopt  some  of  his  methods  of  instrumentation.  His 
mastery  is  extraordinary,  but,  for  reasons  which  would 
necessitate  technical  explanations,  I  have  not  borrowed 
anything  from  him.  Wagner's  orchestration  is  too  sym- 
phonic, too  overloaded  and  heavy  for  vocal  music.  The 
older  I  grow,  the  more  convinced  I  am  that  symphony  and 
opera  are  in  every  respect  at  the  opposite  poles  of  music. 
Therefore  the  study  of  Lohengrin  will  not  lead  me  to 
change  my  style,  although  it  has  been  interesting  and  of 
negative  value." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  *]th  (igth\  1879. 

"Yesterday  I  was  talking  to  Marcel  about  the  comple- 
tion of  the  Catholic  chapel,  started  long  ago,  but  inter- 
rupted by  order  of  the  Government.  Now  the  necessary 
permission  has  been  obtained,  and  the  priest  has  funds  for 
the  work;  but  another  difficulty  exists  which  you  alone 
can  overcome.  One  of  your  offices  just  touches  the  wall 
of  the  church,  and  could  easily  be  transported  to  another 
spot.  Last  year  I  went  into  the  chapel  in  which  the  ser- 
vice is  held,  and  I  must  honestly  say  that  I  was  sorry  to 
see  this  obvious  proof  of  Catholic  persecution  ...  it  is 
not  large  enough  to  hold  a  tenth  part  of  the  congregation. 
I  am  an  energetic  champion  of  religious  freedom.  Marcel 
tells  me  the  priest  did  not  like  to  trouble  you  with  his 
requests,  therefore  I  am  animated  with  a  desire  to  come  to 
his  assistance.  I  take  the  liberty  of  telling  you  that  the 
Catholics  of  Brailov  are  hoping  for  your  kind  permission 
to  have  your  building  removed.  If  this  should  prove  to  be 


346  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

impossible,  at  least  forgive  me,  dear  friend,  for  my  untimely 
interference  on  their  behalf." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  May  gth  (2\st\  1879. 

"  I  have  just  been  in  the  church  attached  to  the  monas- 
tery. There  were  many  people,  both  in  the  church  and  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  building.  I  heard  the  blind  '  lyre 
singer.'  He  calls  himself  '  lyre  singer '  on  account  of  the 
instrument  with  which  he  accompanies  himself,  which, 
however,  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  lyre  of  anti- 
quity. It  is  curious  that  in  Little  Russia  every  blind 
beggar  sings  exactly  the  same  tune  with  the  same  refrain. 
I  have  used  part  of  this  refrain  in  my  Pianoforte  Concerto. 


"  At  the  present  moment  I  am  writing  on  the  balcony. 
Before  me  is  the  bunch  of  lilies  of  the  valley  from  Sima- 
kov.  I  am  never  tired  of  looking  at  these  enchanting 
creations  of  nature." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  May  2gth  (June  ioth\  1879. 

"To-day  I  finished  the  first  act  of  my  opera  (The  Maid 
of  Orleans).  It  has  grown  into  a  somewhat  bulky  score. 
What  a  delight  to  look  through  a  newly  finished  score ! 
To  a  musician  a  score  means  something  more  than  a  col- 
lection of  all  kinds  of  notes  and  pauses.  It  is  a  complete 
picture,  in  which  the  central  figures  stand  out  clearly  from 
the  accessories  and  the  background. 

"  To  me  every  orchestral  score  is  not  merely  a  foretaste 
of  oral  delight,  but  also  a  joy  to  look  upon.  For  this 
reason  I  am  painfully  particular  about  my  scores,  and 
cannot  bear  corrections,  erasures,  or  blots."1 

1  In  later  years  Tchaikovsky  was  less  particular,  and  his  scores  became 
less  neat. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  347 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  June  i$th  (25^),  1879. 

"  Early  this  morning  I  had  a  telegram  from  Jurgenson, 
to  say  he  had  won  his  case  against  Bachmetiev,  the  Director 
of  the  Imperial  Chapel.  I  think  I  told  you  that  early  last 
year  my  Liturgy  (of  St.  John  Chrysostom)  was  confiscated 
from  Jurgenson's  by  order  of  Bachmetiev.  .  .  .  Only  those 
works  which  have  been  recognised  by  the  Chapel  can  be 
publicly  sold  or  performed.  This  is  the  reason  why,  until 
now,  no  Russian  musicians  have  written  Church  music. 
After  the  confiscation  of  my  composition,  Jurgenson 
brought  an  action  for  damages  against  Bachmetiev,  and 
has  won  his  case.  .  .  .  This  does  not  matter  so  much  for 
my  Liturgy,  as  for  the  principle  involved. 

"  Twenty-five  years  ago  to-day  my  mother  died.  It  was 
the  first  profound  sorrow  of  my  life.  Her  death  had  a 
great  influence  on  the  fate  of  myself  and  our  entire  family. 
She  was  carried  off  by  cholera,  quite  unexpectedly,  in  the 
prime  of  life.  Every  moment  of  that  terrible  day  is 
still  as  clear  in  my  remembrances  as  though  it  had  happened 
yesterday." 

On  June  2Oth  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  N.  F.  von  Meek 
that  he  had  received  three  very  agreeable  letters  from 
abroad.  In  one  Colonne  expressed  his  respect  in  the 
kindliest  manner,  and  assured  Tchaikovsky  that,  in  spite  of 
the  cold  reception  of  The  Tempest,  his  name  should  figure 
again  in  the  programmes  of  the  Chatelet.  A  second  com- 
munication came  from  the  'cellist  Fitzenhagen  (professor 
at  the  Moscow  Conservatoire),  telling  him  of  the  impres- 
sion he  had  created  with  the  "Variations  on  a  Rococo 
theme  "  at  the  Wiesbaden  Festival.  Liszt  remarked  on  this 
occasion,  "  At  last  here  is  music  again/'  The  third  letter 
— from  Hans  von  Biilow — announced  the  great  success  of 
Tchaikovsky's  first  Pianoforte  Concerto  at  the  same 
festival.  Von  Biilow  had  already  played  it  with  even 
greater  success  in  London. 


348  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Almost  on  the  same  day  Tchaikovsky  also  heard  the 
good  news  that  his  Liturgy  had  been  performed  in  the 
University  Church  at  Kiev. 


VI 

On  August  7th  Tchaikovsky  finished  the  third  act  of 
The  Maid  of  Orleans  and,  suffering  from  physical  and 
nervous  exhaustion,  left  Kamenka  for  Simaki,1  as  Nadejda 
von  Meek  was  occupying  her  house  at  Brailov. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  I  am  enchanted.  I  could  not  imagine  more  beautiful 
surroundings.  The  garden  in  which  I  have  just  been 
walking  with  Pakhulsky  has  surpassed  all  my  expecta- 
tions. The  house  is  a  splendid  retreat !  If  you  only 
realised  how  much  I  am  in  need  just  now  of  all  the  com- 
forts which  I  get  as  your  guest  in  this  delightful  spot ! 

"  I  intend  to  finish  the  orchestration  of  the  last  act  of 
my  opera  while  I  am  here,  and  shall  begin  work  to- 
morrow. I  shall  get  this  heavy  burden  off  my  shoulders, 
and  then  I  can  draw  breath  and  enjoy  the  incomparable 
sensation  of  having  completed  a  long  work." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  SIMAKI,  August  ^th  (2u/)f  1879. 

"  I  hasten  to  send  you  my  first  impressions  of  this  place. 
A  very,  very  old  house,  a  shady  garden  with  ancient  oaks 
and  lime  trees ;  it  is  very  secluded,  but  therein  lies  its 
charm.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  flows  a  stream.  From 
the  verandah  there  is  a  fine  view  over  the  village  and  the 
forests.  The  absolute  quiet  and  comfort  of  the  place 
exactly  suit  my  taste  and  requirements.  I  have  at  my 
disposal  an  old  manservant  called  Leon,  a  cook  whom  I 

1  A  smaller  country  house  belonging  to  Nadejda  von  Meek  in  the  vicinity 
of  Brailov. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  349 

never  see,  and  a  coachman  with  a  phaeton  and  four  horses. 
I  could  gladly  dispense  with  the  last,  since  it  necessitates 
my  driving  occasionally,  while  in  reality  I  prefer  to  walk. 
The  proximity  of  Nadejda  Filaretovna  troubles  me  some- 
what, although  it  is  really  folly.  I  know  my  seclusion  will 
not  be  disturbed.  I  am  so  accustomed  to  regard  her  as  a 
kind  of  remote  and  invisible  genius  that  the  consciousness 
of  her  mortal  presence  in  my  neighbourhood  is  rather  dis- 
concerting. Yesterday  I  met  Pakhulsky,  who  spent  part 
of  the  evening  with  me.  But  I  told  him  plainly  that  I 
wanted  to  be  left  quite  alone  for  a  few  days." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"August  nth  (23^),  1879. 

"  Pakhulsky  told  me  that  next  time  he  came  he  was 
to  bring  Milochka 1  with  him.  I  am  very  fond  of  Milo- 
chka ;  it  is  a  pleasure  to  look  at  the  photograph  of  her 
charming  face.  I  am  sure  she  is  a  dear,  sweet,  sympathetic 
child.  I  love  children,  and  could  only  say  *  yes '  to  such  a 
proposal.  But  what  I  could  not  say  to  Pakhulsky  I  can 
say  to  you. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  friend,  and  make  fun  of  my  mania  if 
you  like — but  I  am  not  going  to  invite  Milochka  here,  for 
this  reason  :  my  relations  towards  you — as  they  exist  at 
present — are  my  chief  happiness,  and  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance to  my  well-being.  I  do  not  want  them  altered 
by  a  hair's  breadth.  The  whole  charm  and  poetry  of  our 
friendship  lies  in  your  being  so  near  and  so  dear  to  me, 
while  at  the  same  time  I  do  not  know  you  at  all  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  word.  This  condition  of  things  must 
extend  to  your  nearest  belongings.  I  will  love  Milochka 
as  I  have  hitherto  loved  you.  If  she  appeared  before  me 
— le  charme  serait  rompu  ! 

"  Every  member  of  your  family  is  dear  to  me — particu- 
larly Milochka — yet  for  God's  sake  let  everything  remain 
as  it  has  been.  What  could  I  say  if  she  asked  me  why  I 
never  went  to  see  her  mother?  I  should  have  to  open  our 
acquaintance  with  a  lie.  This  would  be  a  grief  to  me, 

1  Frau  von  Meck's  youngest  daughter. 


350  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

even   though   it   were   a   trifling   falsehood.     Pardon    my 
frankness,  dear  and  noble  friend.  .  .  . 

"If  you  have  Beethoven's  Sonatas,  be  so  kind  as  to  send 
them  to  me." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"SIMAKI,  August  \%th  (30^),  1879. 

"Time  slips  away  unobserved.  Yesterday  something 
very  painful  happened.  About  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon I  was  walking  in  the  woods,  feeling  sure  I  should  not 
meet  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  because  it  was  her  dinner-hour. 
It  chanced,  however,  that  I  went  out  a  little  earlier,  and 
she  was  dining  somewhat  later,  so  we  ran  against  each 
other  quite  by  chance.  It  was  an  awkward  predicament. 
Although  we  were  only  face  to  face  for  a  moment,  I  felt 
horribly  confused.  However,  I  raised  my  hat  politely. 
She  seemed  to  lose  her  head  entirely  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  She  was  in  one  carriage  with  Milochka,  and 
the  whole  family  followed  in  two  others.  I  wandered  into 
the  forest  in  search  of  mushrooms,  and  when  I  returned  to 
the  little  table  where  tea  was  prepared  for  me,  I  found  my 
letters  and  newspapers  awaiting  me.  It  appears  she  sent 
a  man  on  horseback  to  look  for  me,  so  that  I  might  get  my 
post  at  tea-time." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

" SIMAKI,  August  2^th  (September  %th\  1879. 

"  Now  I  can  almost  say  finished  7  I  have  worked  at  The 
Maid  of  Orleans  from  the  end  of  November  (Florence)  to 
the  end  of  August  (Simaki),  just  nine  months.  It  is 
remarkable  that  I  began  and  finished  this  opera  as  the 
guest  of  my  dear  friend." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  August  $\st  (September  \2tfi),  1879. 

"  Do  you  not  like  such  grey  days  as  to-day  ?  I  love 
them.  The  beginning  of  autumn  can  only  be  compared  to 
spring  as  regards  beauty.  It  seems  to  me  September, 
with  its  tender,  melancholy  colouring,  has  a  special  power 
to  fill  me  with  calm  and  happy  feelings.  Around  Simaki 
there  are  many  delightful  spots  which  I  like  best  to  fre- 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  351 

quent  at  sunset,  or  on  sunless  days  like  to-day.  For 
instance,  if  you  turn  to  the  right,  past  the  kitchen  garden, 
and  take  the  lower  path  (parallel  to  the  village)  by  the 
fen  where  the  reeds  grow.  I  am  very  fond  of  that  spot. 
But  by  day  the  sun  spoils  the  picturesque  view  of  the 
village. 

"  At  evening,  too,  or  on  a  cloudy  day,  it  is  delightful  to 
sit  on  some  high-lying  spot,  and  look  over  the  old  willows, 
or  poplars,  across  to  the  village,  with  its  modest  church 
(what  a  charm  is  given  to  every  rural  landscape  by  these 
churches),  and  far  away  to  the  distant  forests.  I  often 
spend  an  hour  in  this  way.  .  .  ." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"August  3i5/  (September  i2th),  1879. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  telegram  from  Anatol :  '  Have 
just  been  dismissed  in  consequence  of  an  unpleasantness 
in  my  department.  Most  anxious  to  speak  to  you.'  I  am 
starting  for  Petersburg  at  once.  A  great  fear  of  the  future 
possesses  me.  In  spite  of  the  many  delightful  moments 
spent  here,  I  have  had  a  continual  foreboding  of  something 
unlucky,  and  always  about  Toly." 


VII 

1879-1880 

To  P.  f.  Jurgenson. 

(Early  in  September?) 

"  You  will  be  very  much  astonished  to  hear  of  my  being 
in  Petersburg.  I  was  summoned  by  a  telegram  from  my 
brother  Anatol,  announcing  that  in  consequence  of  some 
unpleasantness  he  had  to  resign  his  position  in  the  Govern- 
ment service.  ...  I  think  the  matter  can  be  so  arranged 
that  he  can  keep  his  place.  .  .  . 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  shall  stay  here.  It  depends 
upon  the  progress  of  my  brother's  affairs.  O  detested 
Petersburg ! " 


352  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PETERSBURG,  September  \$th  (25^),  1879. 

"  I  received  your  letter  yesterday,  dear  friend.  How  I 
envied  you  when  I  read  your  account  of  the  lovely  autumn 
weather  you  were  enjoying  !  The  weather  is  not  bad  here, 
but  what  is  the  use  of  it  to  me  ? 

"  I  often  go  to  the  opera,  but  I  do  not  enjoy  it  much. 
The  impossibility  of  escaping  from  innumerable  acquain- 
tances bores  me  dreadfully.  No  matter  where  I  hide 
myself,  there  are  always  idle  people  who  poison  my 
pleasure  in  the  music  by  their  kind  attentions.  They  will 
worry  me  with  the  usual  commonplace  questions :  *  How 
are  you  ? '  '  What  are  you  composing  now  ? '  etc.  But  the 
invitations  are  the  most  intolerable.  It  requires  so  much 
courage  to  refuse  them. 

"  In  one  of  your  letters  you  asked  me  to  tell  you  the 
whole  method  of  procedure  in  order  to  get  an  opera 
accepted  for  performance.  One  has  to  send  the  score 
and  pianoforte  arrangement,  with  a  written  request  for  its 
performance,  to  the  Direction  of  the  Imperial  Opera 
House.  Then,  in  order  to  be  successful,  one  must  set  in 
motion  the  whole  machinery  of  solicitation  and  entreaty. 
This  is  just  what  I  do  not  understand.  My  first  two  operas 
were  performed,  thanks  to  the  assistance  of  the  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  Nicholaevich  who  likes  my  music. 
How  things  will  go  this  time  I  cannot  say.  I  shall 
impress  upon  Jurgenson  to  do  all  that  is  necessary.  Two 
days  ago  I  was  talking  to  Napravnik  (one  of  the  worthiest 
members  of  the  musical  world),  who  takes  a  lively  interest 
in  the  fate  of  my  opera.  He  told  me  it  could  not  be 
performed  this  season,  but  advised  me  to  send  in  the  score 
as  soon  as  possible." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 
"Moscow,  September  20//&  (October  2nd),  1879. 
"  Forgive    me    for    not    having   written    before   to-day. 
Yesterday  it  was  impossible.  .  .  .  Rubinstein  and  Jurgen- 
son soon  put  in  an  appearance,  and  compelled  me  to  leave 
the  tea,  upon  which  I   had  just  started,  and  go   out   to 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  353 

breakfast  with  them.  O  Moscow !  Scarcely  has  one 
set  foot  in  it  before  one  must  needs  begin  to  drink !  At 
five  o'clock  I  was  invited  to  dinner  at  the  Jurgensons', 
where  we  began  again.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  strange 
and  repugnant  to  me  is  this  Moscow  atmosphere  of 
swilling." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"CRANKING,  September  2$th  (October  -]th\  1879. 

"  I  left  Moscow  on  the  22nd.  No  sooner  did  the  train 
begin  to  move,  and  I  saw  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  than 
the  black  curtain,  which  had  hung  before  my  eyes  during 
the  whole  of  my  time  in  the  two  capitals,  suddenly  vanished. 
I  was  once  more  free  and  happy. 

"  Here  I  found  both  your  letters.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
glad  I  was  to  read  your  dear  words.  It  was  a  surprise  to 
hear  our  symphony  was  at  last  published,  for  the  distracted 
Jurgenson  forgot  to  mention  this.  .  .  . 

"  I  owe  you  everything :  my  life,  the  possibility  of  going 
forward  to  distant  goals,  freedom,  and  that  complete  happi- 
ness which  formerly  I  believed  to  be  unattainable. 

"  I  read  your  letters  with  such  a  sense  of  eternal  grati- 
tude and  affection  that  I  cannot  put  it  into  words.  .  .  ." 


To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  October  $th  (i*]th\  1879. 

"  At  the  present  moment — I  do  not  know  why — I  am 
going  through  an  intense  Italian  craze.  I  feel  so  delighted, 
so  happy,  at  the  mere  thought  that  before  long  I,  too,  shall 
be  in  Italy.  Naples,  Pompeii,  Vesuvius  .  .  .  enchanting, 
lovely ! 

"  I  found  the  proofs  of  the  Suite  here.  In  three  days  I 
corrected  and  sent  them  back,  so  that  I  can  now  take  a 
holiday — read,  walk,  play,  dream — to  my  heart's  desire. 
For  how  long  ?  I  do  not  know.  At  any  rate,  I  will  not 
undertake  any  work  during  my  first  days  in  Naples.  Do 
you  not  think  that  in  the  land  of  lazzarone  one  must  be 
lazy  too  ?  " 

2    A 


354  LIFE    AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KAMENKA,  October  ^th  (\<$th\  1879. 

"  No  news.  I  feel  very  well,  only  a  little  misanthropical 
now  and  then.  To-day  there  are  visitors.  When  there 
are  none  I  feel  quite  at  ease.  We  all  sit  and  sew.  I  have 
hemmed  and  marked  a  pocket-handkerchief." * 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  October  gf/i  (2ist),  1879. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
about  our  symphony  ?  I  am  delighted  Colonne  will  play 
it.  At  the  same  time  there  is  no  doubt  it  will  have  no 
success  whatever  with  the  public.  Perhaps  it  might  rouse 
a  spark  of  sympathy  in  the  hearts  of  ten  or  twelve  people 
— and  that  would  be  a  great  step  in  advance.  .  .  .  Only 
one  thing  troubles  me.  Does  Colonne  really  want  to  be 
paid  for  doing  the  work  ?  It  would  gratify  me  to  know 
that  his  readiness  to  perform  the  symphony  was  not  based 
upon  pecuniary  considerations." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  October  \2th  (24^),  1879. 

"  The  last  few  days  I  have  felt  a  secret  dissatisfaction 
with  myself,  which  has  degenerated  into  boredom.  I 
realised  that  I  wanted  work  and  began  to  occupy  myself. 
The  boredom  immediately  vanished  and  I  felt  relieved.  I 
have  begun  a  pianoforte  concerto  and  intend  to  work  at  it 
without  haste  and  over-fatigue. 

"  Have  you  read  V.  Soloviev's  philosophical  articles  ? 
They  are  admirably  written  ;  very  popular  in  form,  so  that 
they  do  not  overstep  the  intelligence  of  the  ordinary  reader, 
yet  very  clever.  I  do  not  know  to  what  conclusions  the 
writer  will  eventually  come.  In  the  last  number  he  proves 
very  effectively  the  untenableness  of  positivism,  which 
denies  metaphysics,  yet  cannot  get  along  without  philo- 
sophy. Soloviev  speaks  in  a  very  striking  way  of  the 

1  This  form  of  occupation,  like  sport,  only  amused  Tchaikovsky  for  a  very 
short  time. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  355 

delusion  of  the  materialists  who,  because  they  deny  meta- 
physics, believe  they  are  only  dealing  with  what  actually 
exists,  that  is,  with  the  material  ;  whereas  the  material  has 
no  objective  existence,  and  is  only  a  phenomenon,  the 
result  of  the  activity  of  our  sense  and  intellect.  I  express 
his  ideas  very  indifferently,  but  I  advise  you  to  read  this 
book  for  yourself. 

"  Yesterday  I  heard  from  Anatol  about  the  performance 
of  Vakoula  the  Smith,  which  took  place  the  previous  week. 
The  theatre  was  full,  but  the  public  cool,  just  as  on  former 
occasions.  Anatol  attributes  this  to  the  indifferent  perfor- 
mance. But  I  can  see  with  startling  clearness  that  this 
attitude  of  reserve  is  the  outcome  of  my  own  stupid  mis- 
takes. I  am  glad  to  know  that  The  Maid  of  Orleans  is 
free  from  the  faults  of  my  earlier  pseudo-opera  style,  in 
which  I  weaned  my  listeners  with  a  superfluity  of  details, 
and  made  my  harmony  too  complicated,  so  that  there  was 
no  moderation  in  my  orchestral  effects.  Besides  which,  I 
gave  the  audience  no  repose.  I  set  too  many  heavy  dishes 
before  them.  Opera  style  should  be  broad,  simple,  and 
decorative.  Vakoula  is  not  in  true  opera  style,  but  is  far 
more  like  symphonic  or  chamber  music.  It  is  only  sur- 
prising that  it  has  not  proved  a  complete  failure.  It  is 
possible  that  it  may  find  favour  with  the  public  in  course 
of  time.  I  place  it  in  the  front  rank  of  my  works,  although 
I  see  all  its  defects.  It  was  a  labour  of  love,  an  enjoyment, 
like  Oniegin,  the  Fourth  Symphony,  and  the  Second 
Quartet." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 


"  KAMENKA,  October  \$th  (27^),  1879. 

"  Only  a  month  —  and  I  shall  be  at  Naples  !  I  look  for- 
ward to  this  as  a  child  to  his  birthday,  and  the  presents  it 
will  bring.  Meanwhile  things  are  going  well  with  me. 
My  latest  musical  creation  begins  to  grow  and  display 
more  characteristic  features.  I  work  with  greater  pleasure 
and  try  to  curb  my  habitual  haste,  which  has  often  been 
injurious  to  my  work." 

On  October  2ist  Nicholas  Rubinstein  played  Tchaikov- 
sky's Pianoforte  Sonata  at  a  concert  of  the  Musical  Society 


356  lllFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

in  Moscow.  The  success  was  so  great  that  the  famous 
pianist  repeated  it  at  his  own  concert  in  the  course  of  the 
same  season. 

On  November  nth  the  composer's  First  Suite  had  a 
decided  success,  judging  by  the  newspapers.  The  short 
number  which  Tchaikovsky  once  thought  of  cutting  out 
of  the  work  was  encored. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"BERLIN,  November  nth  (z^rd),  1879. 

"  MY  DEAR  ANATOL, — I  have  had  an  ideal  journey. 
I  arrived  in  Berlin  early  this  morning.  After  breakfast  I 
went  to  see  Kotek.  The  good  man  seemed  wild  with 
delight  at  seeing  me  again,  and  even  I  was  glad.  But  at 
the  end  of  two  hours  of  musical  tittle-tattle  I  was  tired, 
and  thankful  he  had  to  attend  a  rehearsal.  Strange  !  The 
longer  I  live,  the  less  I  care  for  the  society  of  my  fellow- 
creatures.  There  is  no  doubt  that  I  am  fond  of  Kotek, 
but  his  chatter  wearies  me  more  than  the  severest  physical 
exertion." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  November  i8//fc  (30^),  1879. 

"  I  know  the  Variations  by  Rimsky-Korsakov  &  Co.1 
very  well.  The  work  is  original  in  its  way  and  shows 
some  remarkable  talent  for  harmony  in  its  authors.  At 
the  same  time  I  do  not  care  for  it.  It  is  too  heavy  and 
spun-out  for  a  joke,  and  the  everlasting  repetition  of  the 
theme  is — clumsy.  As  a  work  of  art  it  is  a  mere  nonentity. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  a  few  clever  men  should  have 
amused  themselves  by  inventing  all  kinds  of  variations 
upon  a  commonplace  theme  ;  the  surprising  thing  is  their 
having  published  them.  Only  amateurs  can  suppose  that 
every  piquant  harmony  is  worthy  to  be  given  to  the  public. 
Liszt,  the  old  Jesuit,  speaks  in  terms  of  exaggerated  praise 
of  every  work  which  is  submitted  to  his  inspection.  He  is 

1  "  Paraphrases,"  twenty-four  variations  and  fourteen  pieces  for  piano  on 
a  popular  theme,  by  Borodin,  Cui,  Liadov,  and  Rimsky-Korsakov. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  357 

at  heart  a  good  man,  one  of  the  very  few  great  artists  who 
have  never  known  envy  (Wagner  and  in  some  measure 
Anton  Rubinstein  owe  their  success  to  him ;  he  also  did 
much  for  Berlioz) ;  but  he  is  too  much  of  a  Jesuit  to  be 
frank  and  sincere." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"PARIS,  November  igth  (December  ist\  1879. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — What  happiness  to  get  right  away 
from  one's  own  country!  Not  until  I  had  passed  the 
frontiers,  did  I  breathe  freely  and  feel  at  ease.  On  the 
journey  I  came  across  Joseph  Wieniawsky,  who  was  in 
the  same  corridor  train.  I  immediately  told  him  I  was 
not  alone,  but  travelling  with  a  lady,  upon  which  he  winked 
at  me  slyly,  as  much  as  to  say,  'Of  course,  we  know, 
shocking  dog ! ' 

"  At  present  I  want  to  work  slowly  at  my  Concerto  ; 
later  I  mean  to  look  through  my  old  works,  especially  the 
Second  Symphony,  which  I  intend  to  revise  thoroughly." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  November  2\st  (December  $rd\  1879. 

"  To-day,  being  a  Saint's  Day,  Alexis  went  to  church, 
and  told  me  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  Nicholaevich,  with 
all  his  suite  in  full  uniform,  had  attended  the  service.  I 
could  not  account  for  this  until  I  took  up  the  Gaulois  at 
breakfast,  and  read  of  an  attempt  made  in  Moscow  on  the 
Tsar's  life.  .  .  .  The  Emperor  escaped  unharmed. 

"  I  do  not  believe,  dear  friend,  that  we  are  in  immediate 
danger  of  a  war  with  Prussia.  Such  a  war,  although  in- 
evitable, is  improbable  during  the  lives  of  the  present 
emperors.  How  can  it  be  possible  to  think  of  war,  when 
such  horrors  are  taking  place  in  our  midst?  ...  I  think 
the  Tsar  would  do  well  to  assemble  representatives  through- 
out all  Russia,  and  take  counsel  with  them  how  to  prevent 
the  recurrence  of  such  terrible  actions  on  the  part  of  mad 
revolutionaries.  So  long  as  all  of  us — the  Russian  citizens 
— are  not  called  to  take  part  in  the  government  of  the 
country,  there  is  no  hope  of  a  better  future." 


358  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  November  26th  (December  8M),  1879. 
"  I  am  not  altogether  at  one  with  you  as  regards  Cui. 
I  do  not  recognise  in  him  any  great  creative  power, 
although  his  music  has  a  certain  elegance,  agreeable  har- 
monies, and  shows  good  taste,  in  which  he  is  distinguished 
from  the  other  members  of  '  the  band,'  especially  Mous- 
sorgsky.  By  nature  Cui  is  more  drawn  towards  light  and 
piquantly  rhythmic  French  music ;  but  the  demands  of 
*  the  band '  which  he  has  joined  compel  him  to  do  violence 
to  his  natural  gifts  and  to  follow  those  paths  of  would-be 
original  harmony  which  do  not  suit  him.  Cui  is  now 
forty-four  years  of  age  and  has  only  composed  two  operas 
and  two  or  three  dozen  songs.  He  was  engaged  for  ten 
years  upon  his  opera  Ratcliff.  It  is  evident  that  the 
work  was  composed  piecemeal,  hence  the  lack  of  any  unity 
of  style." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  November  2>jth  (December  gtti),  1879. 

"  Now  I  will  answer  your  question.  My  Voyevode  is  un- 
doubtedly a  very  poor  opera.  I  do  not  speak  of  the  music 
only,  but  of  all  that  goes  to  the  making  of  a  good  opera. 
The  subject  is  lacking  in  dramatic  interest  and  movement, 
and  the  work  was  written  hastily  and  carelessly.  I  wrote 
music  to  the  words  without  troubling  to  consider  the 
difference  between  operatic  and  symphonic  style.  In  com- 
posing an  opera  the  stage  should  be  the  musician's  first 
thought,  he  must  not  abuse  the  confidence  of  the  theatre- 
goer who  comes  to  see  as  well  as  to  hear.  Finally,  the  style 
of  music  written  for. the  stage  should  be  the  same  as  the 
decorative  style  in  painting,  clear,  simple,  and  highly 
coloured.  A  picture  by  Meissonier  would  lose  half  its 
charm  if  exhibited  on  the  stage;  and  subtle,  delicately 
harmonised  music  would  be  equally  inappropriate,  since 
the  public  demands  sharply  defined  melodies  on  a  back- 
ground of  subdued  harmony.  In  my  Voyevode  I  have 
been  chiefly  concerned  with  filigree  work,  and  have  for- 
gotten the  requirements  of  the  stage. 

"The  stage  often  paralyses  a  composer's  inspiration,  that 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  359 

is  why  symphonic  and  chamber  music  are  so  far  superior 
to  opera.  A  symphony  or  sonata  imposes  no  limitations, 
but  in  opera,  the  first  necessity  is  to  speak  the  musical 
language  of  the  great  public.  .  .  .  The  final  defect  of  The 
Voyevode  lies  in  the  heaviness  of  its  orchestration,  which 
overpowers  the  soloists.  These  are  all  the  faults  of  inex- 
perience ;  we  must  leave  a  whole  series  of  failures  behind 
us  before  we  can  attain  to  perfection.  This  is  the  reason 
why  I  am  not  ashamed  of  my  first  opera.  It  has  taught 
me  useful  lessons.  And  you  see,  dear  friend,  how  strenu- 
ously I  have  endeavoured  to  correct  my  errors.  Even 
Undine  (the  opera  I  burnt),  The  Oprichnik,  and  Vakoula 
are  not  what  they  should  be.  I  find  this  branch  of  art 
very  difficult !  I  think  The  Maid  of  Orleans  at  last  fulfils 
every  requirement,  but  perhaps  I  deceive  myself.  If  it  is 
so,  if  it  turns  out  that  I  have  failed  to  grasp  the  true  opera 
style,  even  in  this  work,  then  I  shall  be  convinced  of  the 
justice  of  the  opinion  that  I  am  by  nature  only  a 
symphonic  composer  and  should  not  attempt  dramatic 
music.  In  that  case,  I  shall  abandon  all  attempts  at 
opera." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  December  1879. 

"  I  have  read  the  proclamation  you  mention.  It  is  im- 
possible to  conceive  anything  more  astounding  and  cynical. 
How  will  such  revolutionary  proceedings  forward  the  re- 
forms with  which,  sooner  or  later,  the  Tsar  will  crown  his 
reign  ?  That  which  the  Socialists  are  doing  in  the  name  of 
Russia  is  foolish  and  insolent.  But  equally  false  is  their 
pretence  of  readiness  to  shake  hands  with  all  parties  and 
to  leave  the  Emperor  in  peace  as  soon  as  he  summons 
a  Parliament.  This  is  not  what  they  really  aim  at,  for  they 
mean  to  go  further — to  a  socialist-republic,  or  to  anarchy. 
But  no  one  will  swallow  this  bait.  Even  were  a  constitu- 
tion granted  to  Russia  in  the  remote  future,  the  first  act 
of  the  Zemstvo  should  be  extermination  of  this  band 
of  murderers  who  hope  to  become  the  leaders  of  the 
country." 


360  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  December  $rd  (15^),  1879. 

"  The  sketch  of  my  Concerto  is  finished  and  I  am  very 
pleased  with  it,  especially  with  the  Andante.  Now  I  shall 
take  in  hand  the  revision  of  my  Second  Symphony,  of 
which  only  the  last  movement  can  be  left  intact.  I  pub- 
lished this  work  through  Bessel  in  1872,  as  a  return  for 
the  trouble  he  took  over  the  performance  of  The  Oprichnik. 
.  .  .  For  seven  years  he  has  led  me  a  dance  over  the 
engraving  of  the  score — always  putting  me  off  with  the 
assurance  that  it  would  soon  be  ready.  I  was  sometimes 
furious  with  him,  but  his  lack  of  conscience  has  proved 
itself  a  blessing  in  disguise !  ...  If  I  succeed  in  working 
steadily  in  Rome,  I  shall  make  a  good  work  out  of  my 
immature,  mediocre  symphony." 


VIII 

After  spending  a  few  days  in  Turin,  Tchaikovsky 
reached  Rome  on  December  8th  (2Oth),  1879.  From 
thence  he  wrote,  on  the  I2th  (24th),  to  Frau  von  Meek : — 

"Yesterday  we  made  a  pilgrimage  to  S.  Pietro  in 
Montorio.  Probably  you  know  the  place,  therefore  I  need 
not  describe  the  beauty  of  the  view  from  the  terrace  below 
the  church.  To-day  I  visited  San  Giovanni  in  Laterano 
and  carried  away  some  profound  artistic  impressions.  I 
also  went  to  Scala  Santa.  High  Mass  was  being  celebrated 
in  the  church.  The  choir  sang  a  Mass  a  capella  and  also 
with  the  organ.  Quite  modern  music,  utterly  unsuitable 
in  church,  but  beautifully  sung.  What  voices  there  are  in 
Italy !  The  tenor  gave  a  solo,  in  the  style  of  a  wretched 
operatic  aria,  in  such  a  magnificent  voice  that  I  was  quite 
carried  away.  But  the  Mass  itself  lacks  that  solemn, 
poetical  atmosphere  with  which  our  liturgy  is  surrounded." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  361 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  December  itf/i  (25^),  1879. 

"It  is  Christmas  here  to-day.  We  went  to  Mass  at 
St.  Peter's.  What  a  colossal  edifice— this  cathedral ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  December  \$th  (27^),  1879. 

"  Yesterday  we  went  up  Monte  Testaccio,  with  its  lovely 
view  of  Rome  and  the  Campagna.  From  there  we  visited 
S.  Paolo  Fuori  le  Mura,  a  basilica  of  huge  proportions  and 
vast  wealth.  To-day  I  am  going  for  the  first  time  to  *  do ' 
the  Forum  thoroughly.  This  has  a  three-fold  interest  for 
me  because  I  am  just  reading  Ampere's  Histoire  remained 
Rome,  in  which  all  that  has  taken  place  in  this  building  is 
minutely  described. 

"  I  have  a  very  good  piano  now.  I  got  a  few  volumes 
of  Bach's  works  from  Ricordi,  and  play  a  number  of  them, 
alone,  or  four-handed,  with  my  brother  Modeste.  But 
work  will  not  come  back  to  me.  Rome  and  Roman  life 
are  too  characteristic,  too  exciting  and  full  of  variety,  to 
permit  of  my  sticking  to  my  writing-table.  However,  I 
hope  the  power  of  work  will  gradually  return.  Yesterday 
I  heard  a  charming  popular  song,  of  which  I  shall  certainly 
make  use  some  future  day." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"ROME,  December  igth  (31^),  1879. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — .  .  .  Nicholas  Rubinstein's  opinion  that 
my  Suite  is  so  difficult  that  it  is  impossible,  has  surprised 
and  annoyed  me  very  much.  Either  Rubinstein  is  mis- 
taken, or  I  must  give  up  composing ;  one  or  the  other. 
Why,  it  is  my  chief  anxiety  to  write  more  easily  and 
simply  as  time  goes  on,  and  the  more  I  try — the  worse 
I  succeed  !  It  is  dreadful ! 

"  I  asked  Taneiev  to  write  and  tell  me  what  actually 
constituted  these  terrible  difficulties.  I  feel  a  little  hurt 
that  none  of  my  friends  telegraphed  to  me  after  the 
performance.  I  am  forgotten.  The  one  interest  which 


362  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

binds  me  to  life  is  centred  in  my  compositions.  Every 
first  performance  marks  an  epoch  for  me.  vCan  no  one 
realise  that  it  would  have  been  a  joy  to  receive  a  few 
words  of  appreciation,  by  which  I  should  have  known  that 
my  new  work  had  been  performed  and  had  given  pleasure 
to  my  friends  ? 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  you  say  about  the  '  Marche 
Miniature.'  We  never  cut  it  out.  The  March  was  to  be 
kept,  but  as  it  was  not  suitable  as  No.  5  it  was  to  be 
published  at  the  end  of  the  Suite.  .  .  .  For  God's  sake 
answer  my  letters  quicker.  Your  communication  has 
upset  my  nerves  and  I  feel  as  ill  as  a  dog." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
ROME,  December  22nd  (January  $rd,  1880),  1879. 

"  To-day  I  went  to  the  Capitol  with  Modeste.  We  spent 
an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  Hall  of  the  Emperors.  The  busts 
are  highly  characteristic !  What  a  revolting,  sensual, 
animal  face  Nero  has !  How  sympathetic  is  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  !  How  fine  the  old  Agrippina  !  How  repulsive  Cara- 
calla !  Some  of  these  countenances  in  no  way  bear  out 
one's  idea  of  the  originals.  For  instance,  Julius  Caesar 
altogether  lacks  power  and  greatness ;  he  looks  like  a 
Russian  Councillor  of  State.  And  Trajan?  Who  could 
guess  from  his  narrow  forehead,  prominent  chin,  and  com- 
monplace expression,  that  the  original  of  the  portrait  was 
a  great  man  ?  .  .  ." 

A  few  days  later,  Tchaikovsky  recounted  to  Nadejda 
von  Meek  his  impressions  of  the  treasures  of  the  Vati- 
can : — 

"The  frescoes  of  Michel  Angelo  now  appear  less  incom- 
prehensible to  me,  although  I  do  not  share  Modeste's 
enthusiasm  for  them.  His  athletic,  muscular  figures,  and 
the  gloomy  vastness  of  his  pictures,  are  gradually  becom- 
ing more  intelligible.  His  art  now  interests  and  overcomes 
me,  but  it  does  not  delight  me,  or  touch  my  heart.  Raphael 
is  still  my  favourite — the  Mozart  of  painters.  Guercino's 
pictures  please  me  very  much,  some  of  his  Madonnas  are  so 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  363 

angelically  beautiful,  they  fill  me  with  silent  ecstasy.  How- 
ever, I  must  confess  that  I  am  not  gifted  by  nature  with  a 
fine  appreciation  of  the  plastic  arts,  for  very  few  pictures 
make  an  impression  upon  me.  ...  To  study  all  the  art  treas- 
ures of  Rome  conscientiously  would  need  a  whole  lifetime. 
To-day  I  discovered  once  more  how  important  it  is  to  look 
long  and  carefully  at  a  picture.  I  sat  before  Raphael's 
'Annunciation/  and  at  first  I  did  not  see  much  in  the 
picture,  but  the  longer  I  looked  the  more  profoundly 
was  I  penetrated  with  its  beauty  as  a  whole,  and  the 
wonder  of  its  details.  Alas !  I  had  only  just  begun  to 
really  enjoy  the  work,  when  Modeste  came  to  tell  me  it 
was  three  o'clock  and  time  to  go  on  to  the  Sistine  Chapel. 
...  I  do  not  think  I  could  live  long  in  Rome.  There  are 
too  many  interests ;  it  leaves  no  time  for  reflection,  no 
time  to  deepen  one's  own  nature.  I  should  prefer  Florence 
as  a  permanent  place  of  residence ;  it  is  quieter,  more 
peaceful.  Rome  is  richer  and  grander ;  Florence  more 
sympathetic. 

"  I  agree  with  Goethe's  characteristic  opinion  of  Rome 

'  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  spend  a  few  centuries  there  in 
Pythagorean  silence.' " 

5.  7.  Taneiev  to  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Moscow. 

"  N.  Rubinstein  has  pointed  out  to  me  all  those  parts  in 
the  score  of  your  Suite  which  he  considers  awkward. 

"  The  difficulties  are  chiefly  centred  in  the  wind  instru- 
ments, especially  in  the  wood-wind.  They  are  as  follows : — 

"  (i)  Too  few  pauses ;  the  wood-wind  have  to  play  for  too 
long  at  a  time  without  opportunities  for  breathing.  In 
those  places  where  you  have  doubled  the  strings  (as  in  the 
Fugue)  it  does  not  matter  so  much,  they  can  make  a  slight 
break  without  its  being  observable.  But  it  is  very  different 
when  they  are  playing  alone.  For  instance,  in  the  newly 
added  movement  there  is  a  part  for  three  flutes  which 
have  to  play  triplets  for  twenty-two  bars,  without  a  break. 

"  (2)  Difficult  passages  :  these  occur  very  often  in  the 
wood-wind  and  demand  virtuosi  to  execute  them  properly. 
In  the  Andante  the  passages  leading  to  the  second  theme 
are  extremely  difficult  (where  oboe  and  clarinet,  and  the 


364  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

second  time  flute  and  clarinet,  have  triplets  of  semi-quavers). 
This  part  went  very  badly  at  the  rehearsals,  and  even  at 
the  concert,  although  the  musicians  had  practised  their 
parts  at  home.  It  offers  such  difficulties  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  render  it  with  the  expression  marks  indicated, 
for  the  musicians  have  enough  to  do  to  get  their  right  note 
(the  double  flat  for  clarinet  is  particularly  awkward). 

"(3)  The  compass  of  all  the  wood-wind  instruments  is 
too  extended.  The  first  bassoon  usually  plays  in  the  tenor 
register,  while  the  second  takes  the  lower  notes.  Not 
only  the  musicians,  but  also  their  instruments,  have  got 
accustomed  to  this  ;  the  lower  notes  of  the  first  bassoon 
are  not  quite  in  tune ;  the  same  thing  applies  to  the 
upper  notes  of  the  second  bassoon.  But  your  Suite  opens 
with  a  unison  passage  for  both  fagotti,  which  employs 
almost  the  entire  range  of  these  instruments  :  from 


to 


In  the  march  the  oboes  have  the  following  notes : — 


which  Z.  played  at  the  first  rehearsal  as : — 


When  Rubinstein  asked  him  why  he  did  not  play  the 
notes  as  they  were  written,  he  replied  that  he  could  do  so, 
but  it  would  be  very  bad  for  his  lips,  because  they  lay  too 
high.  The  French  oboe  players,  he  continued,  could  bring 
out  these  high  notes  better,  because  they  had  different  and 
finer  mouthpieces  ;  but  with  these  mouthpieces  the  middle 
and  lower  notes  suffered. 

"(4)  Difficult  rhythms  which  make  the  execution  irregular. 
The  absence,  too,  of  what  the  Germans  call  "  Anhaltspunkt" 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  365 

(punctuation) — the  absence  of  notes  on  the  strong  beats 
of  the  bar.    Take  this  rhythm  in  the  Scherzo  for  instance : — 


the  last  notes  come  on  the  second  crotchet,  and  the  pause 
on  the  third  beat.  In  consequence,  it  is  very  difficult  to 
play  these  notes  equally,  they  always  sound  a  little  one 
on  the  top  of  the  other.  The  same  with  the  following 
passage : — 


Altogether  the  Scherzo  requires  enormous  virtuosity,  which 
most  members  of  the  orchestra  do  not  possess. 

"Apparently  some  passages  do  not  sound  as  you  thought 
they  would.  At  the  beginning  of  the  Scherzo  (where  the 
wood -wind  enters)  there  is  a  modulation  to  Bt>  major 
through  the  dominant  chord  on  ¥. 

•^  -f- 

The  superfluity  of  chromatic  harmonies,  as  well  as  the 
difficulty  of  executing  clearly  all  that  is  written  for  the 
wind,  causes  these  passages  to  sound  unintelligible  and  to 
have  the  effect  of  a  series  of  wrong  notes.  .  .  ." 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 

"  ROME,  January  tfh  (i6th),  1880. 

"Nicholas  Rubinstein's  explanation  is  not  at  all  satis- 
factory. From  all  he  says,  I  can  plainly  see  that  he  was 


366  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

out  of  temper  and  visited  it  upon  the  Suite.     No  one  will 
induce  me  to  believe  this  passage 


is  difficult  to  play  on  the  oboe  or  clarinet,  or  that  the  flutes 
cannot  play  twenty-two  bars  of  triplets  in  a  rapid  tempo. 
They  could  easily  manage  to  play  such  a  passage  for  220 
bars.  It  would  be  very  innocent  to  imagine  that  this  must 
be  done  in  one  breath.  They  can  breathe  every  time. 
I  play  the  flute  a  little  myself  and  am  certain  of  it.  Diffi- 
culty is  a  relative  matter :  for  a  beginner  it  would  not  only 
be  difficult,  but  impossible,  but  for  an  averagely  good 
orchestral  player  it  is  not  hard.  I  do  not  lay  myself  out 
to  write  easy  things  ;  I  know  my  instrumentation  is  almost 
always  rather  difficult.  But  you  must  admit  that  compared 
with  Francesca,  or  the  Fourth  Symphony,  the  Suite  is  child's 
play.  Altogether  Rubinstein's  criticisms  are  such  that — 
were  they  accurate — I  should  have  to  lay  down  my  pen 
for  ever.  What?  For  ten  years  I  have  taught  instru- 
mentation at  the  Conservatoire  (not  remarkably  well 
perhaps,  but  without  compromising  myself),  and  two  years 
later  remarks  are  made  to  me  which  could  only  be  ad- 
dressed to  a  very  backward  pupil !  One  of  two  things : 
either  I  never  understood  anything  about  the  orchestra,  or 
this  criticism  of  my  Suite  is  on  a  par  with  N.  R.'s  remarks 
upon  my  Pianoforte  Concerto  in  1875:  that  it  was  im- 
practicable. What  was  impossible  in  1875  was  proved 
quite  possible  in  1878. 

"  I  explain  the  whole  affair  thus  :  the  oboist  Herr  Z.  was 
in  a  bad  temper — which  not  infrequently  happens  with 
him — and  this  infected  Rubinstein.  I  like  the  idea  that 
the  high  notes  are  ruination  to  Herr  Z.'s  lips ! ! !  It  is 
a  thousand  pities  these  precious  lips,  from  which  Frau  Z. 
has  stolen  so  many  kisses,  should  be  spoilt  for  ever  by  the 
E  in  alt.  But  this  will  not  hinder  me  from  injuring  these 
sacred  lips  by  writing  high  notes — notes  moreover  that 
every  oboist  can  easily  play,  even  without  a  French  mouth- 
piece ! " 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  367 


IX 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  ROME,  January  2nd  (14^),  1880. 

"  When  I  look  back  upon  the  year  that  has  flown,  I  feel 
I  must  sing  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  to  fate  which  has 
brought  me  so  many  beautiful  days  in  Russia  and  abroad. 
I  can  say  that  throughout  the  whole  year  I  have  led  a 
calm  and  cheerful  life,  and  have  been  happy,  so  far  as 
happiness  is  possible." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"  ROME,  January  \\th  (23^2?),  1880. 

"  My  health  is  bad,  and  my  mental  condition  not  very 
good.  I  have  had  sad  news  from  Petersburg  :  my  sister  is 
ill  and  also  her  daughter.  Yesterday  I  heard  of  my 
father's  death.  He  was  eighty-five,  so  this  news  did  not 
altogether  take  me  by  surprise.  But  he  was  such  a 
wonderful,  angelic  old  soul.  I  loved  him  so  much,  it  is 
a  bitter  grief  to  feel  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

On  hearing  this  news,  Tchaikovsky  burst  into  tears. 
Afterwards  he  became  quiet  and  resigned.  But  the  peace- 
ful end  of  this  venerable  old  man  could  not  make  a  great 
gap  in  the  busy  life  of  his  son,  to  whom,  notwithstanding, 
he  had  been  very  dear. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

11  ROME,  January  i2th  (24^),  1880. 

"  This  morning  I  received  an  amiable  letter  from 
Colonne,  telling  me  my  symphony1  would  be  given  to- 
morrow at  the  Chatelet.  This  has  vexed  me.  If  he  had 
written  a  day  earlier,  I  might  have  reached  Paris  in  time. 
But  Colonne  is  not  to  blame  because,  in  order  to  preserve 

1  No.  4,  dedicated  to  N.  F.  von  Meek. 


368  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

my  incognito,  I  told  him  I  could  not  be  present  at  the 
performance  of  my  symphony,  on  account  of  my  health. 

"  How  am  I  to  thank  you  for  this  kindness,  dear  friend  ? 
I  know  the  symphony  will  not  have  any  success,  but  it 
will  interest  many  people,  and  this  is  very  important  for 
the  propaganda  of  my  works." 

Although  Colonne  sent  a  telegram  of  congratulation 
immediately  after  the  concert,  the  letter  which  followed 
announced,  in  the  politest  manner,  the  partial  failure  of  the 
symphony.  La  Gazette  Musicale  says  the  first  and  last 
movements  were  received  with  "  icy  coldness,"  and  the 
public  only  showed  enthusiasm  for  the  Scherzo,  and  por- 
tions of  the  Andante. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  performance  of  the 
Fourth  Symphony  in  Paris,  Tchaikovsky's  Quartet  No.  3, 
Op.  30,  and  the  Serenade  for  violin  and  pianoforte  were 
given  by  the  Societe  de  S.  Cecile.  All  the  newspapers 
were  unanimously  agreed  as  to  the  success  of  these  works. 

From  this  time  Tchaikovsky's  works  began  to  make 
their  way  abroad.  From  New  York,  Leopold  Damrosch 
sent  him  tidings  of  the  great  success  of  his  First  Suite; 
while  Jurgenson  wrote  to  tell  him  of  the  triumph  of  his 
Pianoforte  Concerto  in  B  t>  minor,  which  had  been  played 
twice  by  Billow  and  once  by  Friedenthal  in  Berlin,  by 
Breitner  in  Buda-Pesth,  and  by  Rummel  in  New  York. 

To  N.  F.  von  Heck. 

"  ROUE,  January  i6th  (28^),  1880. 

"  What  a  superb  work  is  Michel  Angelo's  'Moses'!  It  is 
indeed  conceived  and  executed  by  a  genius  of  the  highest 
order.  It  is  said  the  work  has  some  defects.  This  reminds 
me  of  old  F6tis,  who  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  errors 
in  Beethoven's  works,  and  once  boasted  in  triumph  of 
having  discovered  in  the  Eroica  symphony  an  inversion 
which  was  not  in  good  taste. 

"  Do  you  not  think  Beethoven  and  Michel  Angelo  are 
allied  by  nature  ?  " 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  369 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"February  $th  (17^),  1880. 

"Just  now  we  are  at  the  very  height  of  the  Carnival. 
At  first,  as  I  have  told  you,  this  wild  folly  did  not  suit  me 
at  all,  but  now  I  am  growing  used  to  it.  Of  course  the 
character  of  the  festival  here  is  conditioned  by  climate  and 
custom.  Probably  if  a  Roman  was  set  down  among  us  in 
our  Carnival  week,  the  crowd  of  tipsy  people  swinging 
and  toboganning  would  seem  to  him  even  more  barbarous! 

"  I  am  working  at  the  sketch  of  an  Italian  Fantasia  based 
upon  folksongs.  Thanks  to  the  charming  themes,  some 
of  which  I  have  taken  from  collections  and  some  of  which 
I  have  heard  in  the  streets,  this  work  will  be  effective." 

To  N.  F.  von  Heck. 

"February  tfh  (i6M),  1880. 

"Yesterday  we  made  the  most  of  glorious  weather  and 
went  to  Tivoli.  It  is  the  loveliest  spot  I  ever  beheld.  As 
soon  as  we  arrived  we  went  to  lunch  at  the  Albergo  della 
Sybilla.  Our  table  was  near  the  edge  of  a  ravine,  where 
a  waterfall  splashed  in  the  depths  below ;  on  all  sides  the 
steep  banks  and  rocks  were  covered  with  pines  and  olive 
trees.  The  sun  was  hot  as  in  June.  After  breakfast  we 
took  a  long  walk  and  visited  the  celebrated  Villa  d'Este, 
where  Liszt  spends  three  months  every  year.  It  is  mag- 
nificent, and  from  the  park  there  is  a  fine  view  over  the 
Campagna. 

"  To-day  we  went  to  the  gallery  of  the  Palazzo  Borghese, 
in  which  there  are  some  masterpieces.  I  was  most  im- 
pressed by  Correggio's  superb  picture  '  Danae.' l 

"  Dear  friend,  leading  such  a  life,  amid  all  these  beautiful 
impressions  of  nature  and  art,  ought  not  a  man  to  be 
happy  ?  And  yet  a  worm  continually  gnaws  in  secret  at 
my  heart.  I  sleep  badly,  and  do  not  feel  that  courage  and 
freshness  which  I  might  expect  under  the  present  con- 
ditions. Only  for  a  moment  can  I  conquer  my  mental 
depression.  My  God !  What  an  incomprehensible  and 

1  Removed  to  the  Villa  Borghese  in  1891. 
2    F, 


3/0  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

complicated  machine  the  human  organism  is !  We  shall 
never  solve  the  various  phenomena  of  our  spiritual  and 
material  existence.  And  how  can  we  draw  the  line  between 
the  intellectual  and  physiological  phenomena  of  our  life? 
At  times  it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  suffered  from  a 
mysterious,  but  purely  physical,  malady  which  influences 
my  mental  phases.  Lately  I  have  thought  my  heart  was 
out  of  order  ;  but  then  I  remembered  that  last  summer  the 
doctor  who  examined  it  declared  my  heart  to  be  absolutely 
sound.  So  I  must  lay  the  blame  on  my  nerves — but  what 
are  nerves  ?  Why,  on  one  and  the  same  day,  without  any 
apparent  reason,  do  they  act  quite  normally  for  a  time, 
and  then  lose  their  elasticity  and  energy,  and  leave  one 
incapable  of  work  and  insensible  to  artistic  impressions? 
These  are  riddles. 

"There  is  a  lovely  bunch  of  violets  in  front  of  me. 
There  are  quantities  here.  Spring  is  coming  in  to  her  own." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"ROME,  February  $th  (i7//&),  1880. 

"Good  Lord,  what  a  stupid  idea  to  go  and  print  that 
score!!!1  It  is  not  profitable,  is  no  use  to  anyone,  nor  satis- 
factory in  any  respect — simply  absurd.  The  moral  is : 
when  you  want  to  prepare  a  little  surprise  for  me,  ask  my 
advice  first.  I  assure  you,  in  spite  of  my  well-known  naivete, 
I  have  more  sound  common  sense  than  many  clever, 
worthy,  but  too  enthusiastic  people — such  as  the  person 
for  example  who  suggested  you  should  engrave  this  score. 
All  the  same,  my  unfavourable  view  does  not  prevent  my 
being  grateful — even  in  this  case — for  your  friendship, 
which  I  value  tremendously. 

"Is  it  not  time  to  lay  the  score  of  The  Maid  of  Orleans 
before  the  Opera  Direction?  I  think  it  is  just  the  right 
moment.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  February  6th(i%th),  1880. 

"  The  more  I  look  at  Michel  Angelo's  works  the  more 
wonderful  they  seem  to  me.  Just  now  I  was  contemplat- 

1  Eugene  Oniegin. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  371 

ing  his  '  Moses.'  The  church  was  empty,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  disturb  my  meditations.  I  assure  you  I  was 
filled  with  terror.  You  will  remember  that  Moses  is  stand- 
ing with  his  head  slightly  turned  towards  the  sacrifice 
which  is  to  be  offered  to  Baal.  His  expression  is  angry 
and  menacing  ;  his  figure  majestic  and  commanding.  One 
feels  he  has  only  to  speak  a  word,  for  erring  mortals  to  fall 
on  their  knees  before  him.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive 
anything  more  perfect  than  this  great  statue.  With  this 
genius  the  form  expresses  his  entire  thought,  there  is 
nothing  forced,  no  pose,  such  as  we  see,  for  instance,  in 
Bernini's  statues,  of  which  Rome  unfortunately  possesses 
so  many  examples. 

"  I  am  so  pleased  with  a  book  that  has  come  into  my 
hands,  I  cannot  put  it  down.  It  is  nothing  less  than  an 
excellent  rendering  of  Tacitus  into  French.  He  is  a  great 
artist." 

About  this  time  the  performance  of  Tchaikovsky's  opera 
The  Oprichnik  was  forbidden,  because  the  subject  was 
considered  too  revolutionary  in  that  moment  of  political 
agitation.  "Je  n'ai  qu'a  m'en  feliciter,"  wrote  the  composer 
on  receiving  the  news,  "  for  I  am  glad  of  any  hindrance  to 
the  performance  of  this  ill-starred  opera." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  February  ibth  (28^),  1880. 

"  I  chose  the  title  of  Divertimento  for  the  second  move- 
ment of  my  Suite,  because  it  was  the  first  which  occurred 
to  me.  I  wrote  the  movement  without  attaching  any  great 
importance  to  it,  and  only  interpolated  it  in  the  Suite  to 
avoid  rhythmical  monotony.  I  wrote  it  actually  at  one 
sitting,  and  spent  much  less  time  upon  it  than  upon  any 
other  movement.  As  it  turns  out,  this  has  not  hindered  it 
from  giving  more  pleasure  than  all  the  rest.  You  are  not 
the  only  one  who  thinks  so.  It  proves  for  the  thousandth 
time  that  an  author  never  judges  his  own  works  with 
justice. 

"  I  am  most  grateful  to  you  for  calling  Colonne's  atten- 


372  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

tion  to  my  new  works,  but  I  must  tell  you  frankly :  it 
would  be  very  disagreeable  to  me  if  you  were  again  to 
repay  him  in  a  material  form  for  his  attention.  .  .  .  The 
first  time  it  was  very  painful  that  you  should  have  spent  a 
considerable  sum  of  money,  although  I  was  glad  to  feel 
that,  thanks  to  your  devoted  friendship,  our  symphony 
should  be  made  known  to  the  Paris  public.  I  was  grateful 
for  this  new  proof  of  your  sympathy.  But  now  it  would 
be  painful  and  disgraceful  to  me  to  know  that  Colonne 
could  only  see  the  worth  of  my  compositions  by  the  flash- 
light of  gold.  All  the  same,  I  am  grateful  for  your  re- 
commendation." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ROME,  February  \%th  (March  \st\  1880. 

"The  Concerto1  of  Brahms  does  not  please  me  better 
than  any  other  of  his  works.  He  is  certainly  a  great 
musician,  even  a  Master,  but,  in  his  case,  his  mastery  over- 
whelms his  inspiration.  So  many  preparations  and  circum- 
locutions for  something  which  ought  to  come  and  charm  us 
at  once — and  nothing  does  come,  but  boredom.  His  music 
is  not  warmed  by  any  genuine  emotion.  It  lacks  poetry, 
but  makes  great  pretensions  to  profundity.  These  depths 
contain  nothing :  they  are  void.  Take  the  opening  of  the 
Concerto,  for  instance.  It  is  an  introduction,  a  preparation 
for  something  fine ;  an  admirable  pedestal  for  a  statue ; 
but  the  statue  is  lacking,  we  only  get  a  second  pedestal 
piled  upon  the  first.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  have 
properly  expressed  the  thoughts,  or  rather  feelings,  which 
Brahms's  music  awakens  in  me.  I  mean  to  say  that  he 
never  expresses  anything,  or,  when  he  does,  he  fails  to 
express  it  fully.  His  music  is  made  up  of  fragments 
of  some  indefinable  something,  skilfully  welded  together. 
The  design  lacks  definite  contour,  colour,  life. 

"  But  I  must  simply  confess  that,  independent  of  any 
definite  accusation,  Brahms,  as  a  musical  personality,  is 
antipathetic  to  me.  I  cannot  abide  him.  Whatever  he 
does — I  remain  unmoved  and  cold.  It  is  a  purely  instinctive 
feeling." 

1  The  violin  Concerto,  Op.  77. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  373 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"ROME,  February  2&h  (March  tfh\  1880. 

"  To-day  I  went  on  foot  to  the  Vatican  and  sat  a  long 
while  in  the  Sistine  Chapel.  Here  a  miracle  was  worked. 
I  felt — almost  for  the  first  time  in  my  life — an  artistic 
ecstasy  for  painting.  What  it  means  to  become  gradually 
accustomed  to  the  painter's  art !  I  remember  the  time 
when  all  this  seemed  to  me  absurd  and  meaningless.  .  .  ." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"BERLIN,  March  tfh  (i6th\  1880. 

"  In  Paris  I  went  to  the  '  Comedie  Francaise,'  and  fell 
in  love  with  Racine  or  Corneille  (which  of  them  wrote 
Polyeucte  ?).  The  beauty  and  strength  of  these  verses  and, 
still  more,  the  lofty  artistic  truth  !  At  the  first  glance  this 
tragedy  seems  so  unreal  and  impossible.  The  last  act, 
however,  in  which  Felix,  conscience-stricken  and  illumined 
by  Christ,  suddenly  becomes  a  Christian,  touched  me  pro- 
foundly. .  .  . 

"After  reading  Toly's  letter  I  went  to  Bilse's  concert. 
The  large,  luxuriously  decorated  hall,  with  its  smell  of 
indifferent  cigars  and  food,  its  stocking-knitting  ladies  and 
beer-drinking  men,  made  a  curious  impression  upon  me. 
After  Italy,  where  we  were  constantly  out  in  the  beautiful, 
pure  air,  it  was  quite  repugnant.  But  the  orchestra  was 
excellent,  the  acoustic  splendid,  and  the  programme  good. 
I  heard  Schumann's  '  Genoveva,'  the  '  Mignon  '  overture, 
and  a  very  sparkling  pot-pourri^  and  I  was  very  pleased 
with  it  all.  How  glad  I  shall  be  to  hear  the  Flying 
Dutchman  to-day ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"BERLIN,  March  $th  (17^),  1880. 

"To-day  I  went  to  the  Aquarium,  where  I  went  into 
ecstasies  over  the  chimpanzee.  He  lives  in  intimate 
friendship  with  a  dog.  It  is  delightful  to  see  the  two  play 
together,  and  the  chimpanzee  laughs  in  the  drollest  way 


374  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

when  he  takes  refuge  in  some  place  where  the  dog  cannot 
get  at  him ! 

"  I  notice  that  I  am  making  great  progress  in  my 
appreciation  of  painting.  I  take  the  greatest  delight  in 
many  things,  especially  in  the  Flemish  school.  Teniers, 
Wouvermans,  and  Ruysdael  please  me  far  more  than  the 
renowned  Rubens,  who  represents  even  Christ  as  healthily 
robust,  with  unnaturally  pink  cheeks.  One  fact  makes  me 
begin  to  see  myself  as  a  great  connoisseur.  I  recognise 
Correggio's  brush  before  I  see  his  name  in  the  catalogue ! 
But  then  Correggio  has  his  own  manner,  and  all  his  male 
figures  and  heads  resemble  the  Christ  in  the  Vatican,  and 
his  women  the  Danae  in  the  Borghese  Palace." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ST.  PETERSBURG,  March  ?oth  (22^,  1880. 

"  Your  benevolence  to  poor,  dying  Henry  Wieniawsky 
touches  me  deeply.1  ...  I  pity  him  greatly.  In  him  we 
shall  lose  an  incomparable  violinist  and  a  gifted  composer. 
In  this  respect  I  think  Wieniawsky  very  talented  .  .  .  the 
beautiful  Legende  and  parts  of  the  A  minor  Concerto  show 
a  true  creative  gift." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ST.  PETERSBURG,  March  2oth  (April  u/),  1880. 

"Yesterday  I  suffered  a  good  deal.  The  Grand  Duke 
Constantine  Nicholaevich  has  a  son  Constantine.  This 
young  man  of  two-and-twenty  is  passionately  fond  of 
music,  and  is  very  partial  to  mine.  He  expressed  a  wish 
to  become  more  closely  acquainted  with  me,  and  asked  a 
relative  of  mine,  the  wife  of  Admiral  Butakov,  to  arrange 
an  evening  party  at  which  we  might  meet. 

"  As  he  knows  my  misanthropical  habits,  this  evening 
was  to  be  of  an  informal  nature,  without  dress  coats  and 
white  ties.  It  was  impossible  to  escape.  The  young 
man  is  very  pleasant  and  has  musical  ability.  We  talked 
music  from  9  p.m.  until  2  a.m.  He  composes  very  nicely, 

1  N.  F.  von  Meek  had  given  the  gifted  artist  the  wherewithal  to  spend  his 
last  days  in  comfort.  Ten  days  after  this  letter  was  written  Wieniawsky 
died. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  375 

but   unfortunately  has  no  time  to   devote  himself  to   it 
seriously." 

On  March  25th  several  of  Tchaikovsky's  works  were 
performed  at  a  concert  given  by  two  singers,  well  known 
in  Petersburg,  V.  Issakov  and  Madame  Panaev.  The 
First  Suite  and  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  overture  were  played 
by  the  orchestra  of  the  Russian  Opera  under  Napravnik. 
The  Suite  had  the  greatest  success,  especially  the 
"  Marche  Miniature."  The  great  novelist  Tourgeniev  was 
present  on  this  occasion. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Moscow,  April  2nd (i4//4),  1880. 

"  I  have  come  here  with  the  intention  of  spending  three 
days  incognito  and  finishing  my  work.  Besides,  I  need 
the  rest.  Imagine,  my  dear  friend,  for  the  last  few  days  I 
have  hardly  ever  been  out  of  a  tail  coat  and  white  tie  and 
associating  with  the  most  august  personages.  It  is  all 
very  flattering,  sometimes  touching ;  but  fatiguing  to  the 
last  degree.  I  feel  so  happy  and  comfortable  in  my  room 
in  the  hotel,  not  being  obliged  to  go  anywhere,  or  do 
anything ! " 

x 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  April  iZth  (30^),  1880. 

"  To-day  a  cold  north  wind  is  blowing.  Spring  has  not 
yet  entered  into  possession  of  her  own,  and  the  nightingale 
is  not  singing  yet.  Still,  it  is  beautiful  in  the  forest. 

"  During  the  last  few  days  I  have  read  through  two  new 
operas  :  Anton  Rubinstein's  Kalashnikov  and  Jean  de 
Nivelles  by  Delibes.  The  former  is  weak  all  through. 
Rubinstein  is  like  a  singer  who  has  lost  her  voice,  but  still 
believes  she  sings  charmingly.  His  talent  has  long  since 
lost  its  charm.  He  really  ought  to  give  up  composing  and 
to  be  contented  with  his  earlier  works.  I  pray  that  I  may 


376  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

never  fall  into  the  same  error.  Delibes  makes  just  the 
opposite  impression.  His  work  is  fresh,  graceful,  and  very 
clever." 

About  the  end  of  April  the  director  of  the  Kiev  branch 
of  the  Russian  Musical  Society  offered  to  make  Tchaikov- 
sky the  principal  of  this  section,  and  of  the  musical  school 
connected  with  it.  Although  on  account  of  its  proximity 
to  the  home  of  the  Davidovs  at  Kamenka,  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Kiev  offered  many  attractions  to  him,  he  declined 
the  offer  without  hesitation.  He  had  tasted  the  fruits  of 
liberty  and  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  teaching 
was  not  his  vocation. 

During  his  stay  at  Kamenka,  Tchaikovsky  finished  the 
orchestration  of  his  "  Italian  Fantasia,"  which  he  considered, 
apart  from  its  musical  worth,  one  of  his  most  effective  and 
brilliant  orchestral  works. 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 
"  KAMENKA,  June  2$rd  (July  5^),  1880. 

"  DEAR  SOUL, — I  believe  you  imagine  I  have  no  greater 
happiness  than  to  compose  occasional  pieces  to  be  played 
at  forthcoming  exhibitions,  and  that  I  ought  to  put  my 
inspirations  down  post-haste  upon  paper,  without  knowing 
how,  when,  or  where.  I  shall  not  stir  a  ringer  until  I  get  a 
positive  commission.  If  something  vocal  is  required  of 
me,  I  must  be  supplied  with  a  suitable  text  (when  it  is  a 
question  of  an  order  I  am  ready  to  set  an  advertisement  of 
corn-plasters  to  music) ;  if  it  is  to  be  an  instrumental 
work,  I  must  have  some  idea  of  the  form  it  should  take, 
and  what  it  is  intended  to  illustrate.  At  the  same  time 
a  definite  fee  must  be  offered,  with  a  definite  agreement  as 
to  who  is  responsible  for  it,  and  when  I  shall  receive  it. 
I  do  not  make  all  these  demands  from  caprice,  but  be- 
cause I  am  not  in  a  position  to  write  these  festival  works 
without  having  some  positive  instructions  as  to  what  is 
required  of  me.  There  are  two  kinds  of  inspiration :  one 
comes  direct  from  the  soul,  by  freedom  of  choice,  or  other 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  377 

creative  impulse  ;  the  other  comes  to  order.  .  .  Matters  of 
business  must  be  put  very  clearly  and  distinctly.  Fancy  if 
I  had  already  been  inspired  to  write  a  Festival  Overture  for 
the  opening  of  the  Exhibition  !  What  would  have  come  of 
it?  It  might  have  happened  that  the  great  Anton  had  also 
(An-}toned  something  of  his  own.  Where  should  I  have 
been  with  my  scribblings  ? 

"  I  shall  finish  the  corrections  of  the  fourth  act  to-day. 
The  opera  (The  Maid  of  Orleans]  has  become  a  long 
affair.  My  poor  publisher !  Well,  we  must  live  in  hope ! " 

Early  in  July  Tchaikovsky  visited  Nadejda  von  Meck's 
estate  at  Brailov,  for  the  sake  of  repose.  At  this  time  a 
feeling  of  dissatisfaction  with  his  work  seems  to  have  taken 
possession  of  him.  "  I  have  written  much  that  is  beautiful," 
he  wrote  to  his  brother  Modeste,  "  but  how  weak,  how  lack- 
ing in  mastery !  .  .  .  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  write 
nothing  new  for  a  time,  but  to  devote  myself  to  the  correct- 
ing and  re-editing  of  my  earlier  works." 

A  letter  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  dated  Brailov,  July  5th 
(i7th),  1880,  contains  some  interesting  comments  upon 
Glinka  and  his  work. 

"...  Glinka  is  quite  an  unusual  phenomenon  !  Reading 
his  Memoirs,  which  reveal  a  nice,  amiable,  but  rather 
commonplace  man,  we  can  hardly  realise  that  the  same 
mind  created  that  wonderful '  Slavsia/ :  which  is  worthy  to 
rank  with  the  work  of  the  greatest  geniuses.  And  how 
many  more  fine  things  there  are  in  his  other  opera  (Russian) 
and  the  overtures !  How  astonishingly  original  is  his 
Komarinskaya,  from  which  all  the  Russian  composers  who 
followed  him  (including  myself)  continue  to  this  day  to 
borrow  contrapuntal  and  harmonic  combinations  directly 
they  have  to  develop  a  Russian  dance-tune !  This  is  done 
unconsciously ;  but  the  fact  is,  Glinka  managed  to  concen- 
trate in  one  short  work  what  a  dozen  second-rate  talents 
would  only  have  invented  with  the  whole  expenditure  of 
their  powers. 

1  "  Slavsia,"  the  great  national  chorus  in  A  Life  for  the  7"sar. 


378  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"And  it  was  this  same  Glinka  who,  at  the  height  of  his 
maturity,  composed  such  a  weak,  trivial  thing  as  the 
Polonaise  for  the  Coronation  (written  a  year  before  his 
death),  or  the  children's  polka,  of  which  he  speaks  in  his 
Memoirs  at  such  length,  and  with  such  self-satisfaction,  as 
though  it  had  been  a  masterpiece. 

"  Mozart,  too,  expresses  himself  with  great  naiveti  in  his 
letters  to  his  father  and,  in  fact,  all  through  his  life.  But 
this  was  a  different  kind  of  simplicity.  Mozart  is  a  genius 
whose  childlike  innocence,  gentleness  of  spirit  and  virginal 
modesty  are  scarcely  of  this  earth.  He  was  devoid  of 
self-satisfaction  and  boastfulness  ;  he  seems  hardly  to  have 
been  conscious  of  the  greatness  of  his  genius.  Glinka,  on 
the  contrary,  is  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  self-glorification ; 
he  is  ready  to  become  garrulous  over  the  most  trivial 
events  in  his  life,  or  the  appearance  of  his  least  important 
works,  and  is  convinced  it  is  all  of  historical  importance. 
Glinka  is  a  gifted  Russian  aristocrat  of  his  time,  and  has 
the  faults  of  his  type  :  petty  vanity,  limited  culture,  intoler- 
ance, ostentatiousness  and  a  morbid  sensibility  to,  and 
impatience  of,  all  criticism.  These  are  generally  the 
characteristics  of  mediocrity ;  how  they  come  to  exist  in  a 
man  who  ought — so  it  seems — to  dwell  in  calm  and  modest 
pride,  conscious  of  his  power,  is  beyond  my  comprehension  ! 
In  one  page  of  his  Memoirs  Glinka  says  he  had  a  bulldog 
whose  conduct  was  not  irreproachable,  and  his  servant  had 
to  be  continually  cleaning  the  room.  Kukolnik,  to  whom 
Glinka  entrusted  his  Memoirs  for  revision,  remarked  in  the 
margin,  '  Why  put  in  this  ? '  Glinka  pencilled  underneath, 
'  Why  not  ? '  Is  not  this  highly  characteristic  ?  Yet,  all 
the  same,  he  composed  the  *  Slavsia } "  ! 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

11  BRAILOV,  July  6th  (i8/^),  1880. 

"  To-day  I  went  to  the  Orthodox,  the  new  Catholic,  and 
the  monastery  churches.  There  is  something  about  the 
monastic  singing  here,  as  in  all  Russian  churches,  which 
enrages  me  to  the  last  degree.  It  is  the  chord  of  the 
dominant  seventh  in  its  original  position,  which  we  misuse 
so  terribly.  There  is  nothing  so  unmusical,  or  so  unsuitable 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  379 

to  the  Orthodox  Church  as  this  commonplace  chord,  which 
was  introduced  during  the  eighteenth  century  by  Messrs. 
Galuppi,  Sarti,  Bortniansky  and  Co.,  and  has  since  become 
so  much  a  part  of  our  church  music  that  the  Gospodi 
pomilui1  cannot  be  sung  without  it.  This  chord  reminds 
me  of  the  accordion,  which  only  gives  out  two  harmonies : 
the  tonic  and  dominant.  It  disfigures  the  natural  progres- 
sion of  the  parts  and  weakens  and  vulgarises  our  church 
music.  To  make  you  clearly  understand  what  it  is  that 
annoys  me  I  will  give  you  an  example : — 


" 


—  -E-fl 
*      " 


instead  of  this  they  ought  to  sing 


*     *     * 


* 


ir     :»     ?     :$     :? 

"  The  new  Catholic  church  makes  a  pleasant  impression. 
I  much  prefer  our  Orthodox  liturgy  to  the  Mass,  especially 
to  the  so-called  '  Low  Mass,'  which  seems  to  me  devoid  of 
all  solemnity." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BRAILOV,  July  StA  (20^),  1880. 

"  Yesterday  I  went  an  expedition  in  the  forest,  where 
formerly  there  used  to  be  wild  goats,  of  which  now  only 
one  specimen  is  left.  They  say  the  others  were  all  de- 
voured by  the  wolves  in  winter.  It  is  a  great  pity  !  But  I 
was  consoled  by  the  beauty  of  the  evening  and  a  wonderful 
walk.  At  sunset  I  had  tea,  and  then  wandered  alone  by 
the  steep  bank  of  the  stream  behind  the  deer-park,  and 
drank  in  all  the  deep  delight  of  the  forest  at  sundown, 
and  freshness  of  the  evening  air.  Such  moments,  I 
thought,  helped  us  to  bear  with  patience  the  many  minor 
grievances  of  existence.  They  make  us  in  love  with  life. 
We  are  promised  eternal  happiness,  immortal  existence, 

1  "  Lord,  have  mercy"  (Kyric  eleison). 


38o  LIFE   AND    LETTERS    OF 

but  we  do  not  realise  this,  nor  shall  we  perhaps  attain  to 
it.  But  if  we  are  worthy  of  it,  and  if  it  is  really  eternal, 
we  shall  soon  learn  to  enjoy  it.  Meanwhile,  one  wishes  to 
live,  in  order  to  experience  again  such  moments  as  those 
of  yesterday. 

"  To-day  I  intended  to  leave  for  Simaki,  but  while  I  am 
writing  to  you  a  terrific  storm  is  raging,  and  it  is  evidently 
going  to  be  a  wet  day ;  so  perhaps  I  shall  remain  here. 
I  am  drawn  to  Simaki,  and  yet  I  regret  leaving  Brailov. 
Dear  friend,  to-day  I  have  committed  a  kind  of  burglary 
in  your  house,  and  I  will  confess  my  crime.  There  was 
no  key  to  the  bookcase  in  the  drawing-room  next  to  your 
bedroom,  but  I  saw  it  contained  some  new  books  which 
interested  me  greatly.  Even  Marcel  could  not  find  the 
key,  so  it  occurred  to  me  to  try  the  one  belonging  to  the 
cupboard  near  my  room,  and  it  opened  the  bookcase  at 
once.  I  took  out  Byron  and  Martinov's  Moscow.  Make 
your  mind  easy,  all  your  books  and  music  remain  un- 
touched. To  quiet  Marcel's  conscience  I  gave  him,  when 
about  to  leave  for  Simaki,  a  memorandum  of  what  I  had 
taken,  and  before  I  actually  depart  I  will  return  him  the 
books  and  music  to  replace  in  their  proper  order.  Pray 
forgive  my  self-justification." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  SIMAKI,  July  %th  (20^),  1880. 

"...  I  expected  a  great  deal  from  Simaki,  but  the 
reality  far  surpasses  my  expectations.  What  a  wonderful 
spot  this  is,  and  how  poor  Brailov  seems  now  I  am  here ! 
The  small  house  is  just  the  same  as  when  I  saw  it  last 
year,  only  it  has  been  done  up  a  little ;  the  furniture  and 
upholstery  are  partly  new ;  the  arrangements  are  the  ideal 
of  comfort.  But  the  surroundings  are  enchanting !  The 
garden  is  a  mass  of  flowers.  I  simply  swim  in  an  ocean 
of  delightful  impressions.  An  hour  ago  I  was  in  the 
millet-field  which  lies  beyond  the  garden,  and  so  great  was 
my  ecstasy  that  I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  thanked  God 
for  the  profound  joy  I  experienced.  I  stood  on  rising 
ground  ;  nothing  was  visible  in  the  distance  but  the  dense 
green  which  surrounds  my  little  house ;  on  every  side  the 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  381 

forest  spreads  to  the  hills;  across  the  stream  lay  the  hamlet, 
whence  came  various  pleasant  rural  sounds ;  the  voices  of 
children,  the  bleating  of  sheep  and  the  lowing  of  cattle, 
driven  home  from  pasture.  In  the  west  the  sun  was  setting 
in  splendour ;  while  in  the  east  the  crescent  moon  was 
already  up.  Everywhere  beauty  and  space!  What  mo- 
ments life  holds  !  Thanks  to  these  intervals,  it  is  possible 
to  forget  everything  !  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"SIMAKI,  July  gth  (2ist),  1880. 

"...  The  night  has  been  glorious !  At  2  a.m.  I  re- 
luctantly left  my  place  by  the  window.  The  moon  shone 
brightly.  The  stillness,  the  perfume  of  the  flowers,  and 
those  wondrous  indefinable  sounds  that  belong  to  the 
night — ah  God,  how  beautiful  it  all  is !  Dear  friend,  I  am 
glad  you  are  at  Interlaken,  of  which  I  am  very  fond ;  but 
all  the  same  I  do  not  envy  you.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
a  place  in  which  the  conditions  of  life  would  conform 
better  to  my  ideal  than  Simaki.  All  day  long  I  feel  as 
though  I  were  lost  in  some  wonderful,  fantastic  dream." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  SIMAKI,  July  \^th  (26^),  1880. 

"  I  have  just  been  playing  the  first  act  of  The  Maid  of 
Orleans,  which  is  now  ready  for  the  printer.  Either  I  am 
mistaken,  or  it  is  not  in  vain,  dear  friend,  that  you  have 
had  the  clock  you  gave  me  decorated  with  the  figure  of 
my  latest  operatic  heroine.  I  do  not  think  The  Maid  of 
Orleans  my  finest,  or  the  most  emotional,  of  my  works,  but 
it  seems  to  me  to  be  the  one  most  likely  to  make  my  name 
popular.  I  believe  Oniegin  and  one  or  two  of  my  instru- 
mental works  are  far  more  closely  allied  to  my  individual 
temperament.  I  was  less  absorbed  in  The  Maid  of 
Orleans  than  in  our  Symphony,  for  instance,  or  the  second 
Quartet ;  but  I  gave  more  consideration  to  the  scenic  and 
musical  effects — and  these  are  the  most  important  things 
in  opera." 


382  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"SiMAKi,  July  \%th  (3oM),  1880. 

"  Yesterday  evening — to  take  a  rest  from  my  own  work 
— I  played  through  Bizet's  Carmen  from  cover  to  cover.  I 
consider  it  a  chef-d'oeuvre  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  : 
one  of  those  rare  compositions  which  seems  to  reflect  most 
strongly  in  itself  the  musical  tendencies  of  a  whole  genera- 
tion. It  seems  to  me  that  our  own  period  differs  from 
earlier  ones  in  this  one  characteristic :  that  contemporary 
composers  are  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  charming  and 
piquant  effects,  unlike  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Schubert,  and 
Schumann.  What  is  the  so-called  New  Russian  School 
but  the  cult  of  varied  and  pungent  harmonies,  of  original 
orchestral  combinations  and  every  kind  of  purely  external 
effect  ?  Musical  ideas  give  place  to  this  or  that  union  of 
sounds.  Formerly  there  was  composition,  creation ;  now 
(with  few  exceptions)  there  is  only  research  and  invention. 
This  development  of  musical  thought  is  naturally  purely 
intellectual,  consequently  contemporary  music  is  clever, 
piquant,  and  eccentric  ;  but  cold  and  lacking  the  glow  of 
true  emotion.  And  behold,  a  Frenchman  comes  on  the 
scene,  in  whom  these  qualities  of  piquancy  and  pungency 
are  not  the  outcome  of  effort  and  reflection,  but  flow  from 
his  pen  as  in  a  free  stream,  flattering  the  ear,  but  touching 
us  also.  It  is  as  though  he  said  to  us  :  'You  ask  nothing 
great,  superb,  or  grandiose — you  want  something  pretty, 
here  is  a  pretty  opera ' ;  and  truly  I  know  of  nothing  in 
music  which  is  more  representative  of  that  element  which 
I  call  the  pretty  (le  jolt).  ...  I  cannot  play  the  last  scene 
without  tears  in  my  eyes  ;  the  gross  rejoicings  of  the  crowd 
who  look  on  at  the  bull-fight,  and,  side  by  side  with  this, 
the  poignant  tragedy  and  death  of  the  two  principal 
characters,  pursued  by  an  evil  fate,  who  come  to  their  in- 
evitable end  through  a  long  series  of  sufferings. 

"  I  am  convinced  that  ten  years  hence  Carmen  will  be 
the  most  popular  opera  in  the  world.  But  no  one  is  a 
prophet  in  his  own  land.  In  Paris  Carmen  has  had  no  real 
success." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  383 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"SiMAKi,/w/y  i8M  (soM),  1880. 

"MY  DEAR  MODI, — How  worried  I  am  by  my  Maid  of 
Orleans,  and  how  glad  I  am  to  have  done  with  her !  Now 
she  has  flown  to  Moscow  and,  until  the  time  of  perform- 
ance comes,  I  need  not  bother  about  her  any  more.  .  .  . 

"  Thanks  (in  an  ironical  sense)  for  your  suggestion  that 
I  should  read  Lhomme  qui  rit.  Do  you  not  know  the  story 
of  my  relations  to  Victor  Hugo?  Anyhow,  I  will  tell  you 
what  came  of  them.  I  took  up  Les  travailleurs  de  la  Mer  ; 
I  read,  and  read,  and  grew  more  and  more  irritated  by  his 
grimaces  and  buffoonery.  Finally,  after  a  whole  series  of 
short,  unmeaning  phrases,  consisting  of  exclamations, 
antitheses,  and  asterisks,  I  lost  my  temper,  spat  upon  the 
book,  tore  it  to  pieces,  stamped  upon  it,  and  wound  up 
by  throwing  it  out  of  the  window.  From  that  moment  I 
cannot  bear  the  mention  of  Victor  Hugo!  Believe  me, 
your  Zola  is  just  such  another  mountebank,  but  more 
modern  in  spirit.  I  do  not  dislike  him  quite  so  much  as 
Hugo,  but  very  nearly.  He  disgusts  me,  as  a  girl  would 
disgust  me  who  pretended  to  be  simple  and  natural,  while 
all  the  time  she  was  essentially  a  flirt  and  coquette. 

"  In  proportion  as  I  like  modern  French  music,  their 
literature  and  journalism  seem  to  me  revolting. 

"Yesterday  I  wrote  to  you  about  Bizet,  to-day  I  am  enthu- 
siastic about  Massenet.  I  found  his  oratorio,  Mary  Mag- 
dalene, at  N.  F.'s.  After  I  had  read  the  text,  which  treats 
not  only  of  the  relations  between  Christ,  the  Magdalene, 
and  Judas,  but  also  of  Golgotha  and  the  Resurrection,  I 
felt  a  certain  prejudice  against  the  work,  because  it  seemed 
too  audacious.  When  I  began  to  play  it,  however,  I  was 
soon  convinced  that  it  was  no  commonplace  composition. 
The  duet  between  Christ  and  the  Magdalene  is  a  master- 
piece. I  was  so  touched  by  the  emotionalism  of  the  music, 
in  which  Massenet  has  reflected  the  eternal  compassion  of 
Christ,  that  I  shed  many  tears.  Wonderful  tears!  All 
praise  to  the  Frenchman  who  had  the  art  of  calling  them 
forth.  .  .  .  The  French  are  really  first  in  contemporary 
music.  All  day  long  this  duet  has  been  running  in  my 


384  LIFE    AND    LETTERS   OF 

head,  and  under  its  influence  I  have  written  a  song,  the 
melody  of  which  is  very  reminiscent  of  Massenet." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  SIMAKI,  July  2^th  (August  $th\  1880. 

"  Have  I  told  you,  dear  friend,  that  I  am  studying 
English?  Here  I  work  very  regularly,  and  with  good 
results.  I  hope  in  six  months  I  shall  be  able  to  read 
English  easily.  That  is  my  sole  aim  ;  I  know  that  at  my 
age  it  is  impossible  to  speak  it  well.  But  to  read  Shake- 
speare, Dickens,  and  Thackeray  in  the  original  would  be 
the  consolation  of  my  old  age."1 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KAMENKA,  July  $ist  (August  I2//&),  1880. 

"  It  is  two  days  since  I  came  to  Kamenka.  I  was  glad, 
very  glad,  to  see  all  our  people  again,  but  I  am  not  in  high 
spirits.  A  kind  of  apathy  has  come  over  me ;  a  dislike  to 
work,  to  reading,  and  particularly  to  exercise,  although  I 
dutifully  do  my  two  hours  a  day.  Apart  from  the  people, 
everything  here  seems  to  me  stuffy  and  frowsy,  beginning 
with  the  air.  When  I  think  of  the  intoxicating  charm  of 
the  gardens,  the  air  perfumed  by  field  and  forest,  at 
Simaki ;  when  I  look  at  the  poor,  dusty  trees,  and  the  arid, 
barren  soil  of  this  place ;  when  instead  of  the  clear,  cold 
stream  I  have  to  content  myself  with  my  sitz-bath — I  am 
overcome  with  a  sickening  sense  of  regret." 

To  P.  /.  Jurgenson. 
"  KAMENKA,  August  \2th  (24^),  1880. 

"  If  I  should  ever  become  famous,  and  anyone  should 
collect  materials  for  my  biography,  your  letter  to-day  would 
give  a  very  false  impression  of  me.  Anyone  would  sup- 
pose I  had  been  in  the  habit  of  flattering  influential  people 
and  making  advances  to  them  with  the  object  of  getting 

1  P.  I.  Jurgenson  informed  me  that  Tchaikovsky  did  succeed  in  acquiring 
sufficient  English  to  read  Pickwick  and  David  Copperfield  in  the  original. 
When  he  took  to  conducting,  he  had  no  time  for  the  study  of  languages. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  385 

my  works  performed.  This  would  be  entirely  untrue.  I 
have  never  in  my  life  raised  a  finger  to  win  the  favour  of 
Bilse,  or  another.  This  is  a  sort  of  '  passive '  pride.  It  is 
another  matter  if  the  advances  are  made  from  the  other 
side.  .  .  . 

"  As  regards  your  advice  to  imitate  Anton  Rubinstein,  I 
must  tell  you  that  our  positions  are  so  different  that 
no  comparison  can  be  made  between  us.  Take  away 
Rubinstein's  virtuosity,  and  he  immediately  falls  from  his 
greatness  to  the  level  of  my  nothingness.  Well,  I  should 
like  to  see  which  of  us  has  the  most  composer's  pride !  In 
any  case  I  am  not  such  a  grandee  that  at  the  advances 
of  so  profitable  and  influential  a  personage  as  Bilse  I  can 
reply  :  '  this  is  no  business  of  mine  ;  apply  to  Jurgenson.' 

"  The  corrected  manuscripts  are  ready,  and  shall  be  sent 
to-morrow.  The  Italian  Capriccio  can  be  printed,  but  I 
should  like  to  look  through  the  concerto  once  more,  and 
beg  you  to  send  me  another  revise.  When  I  sent  it  to 
Nicholas  Rubinstein  in  the  spring,  I  asked  him  to  make  his 
criticisms  to  Taneiev,  and  to  request  the  latter  to  make  the 
necessary  alterations  in  the  piano  part  without  changing 
the  musical  intention,  of  which  I  will  not  alter  a  single 
line.  Taneiev  replied  that  there  were  no  alterations  re- 
quired. Consequently  this  must  have  been  Rubinstein's 
opinion.  But  we  can  hardly  assume  that  he  will  study  the 
work." 

From  a  letter  to  Jurgenson,  dated  some  days  later  than 
the  above,  we  see  that  Tchaikovsky  had  resolved  to  devote 
part  of  the  current  year  to  revising  all  his  works  pub- 
lished by  this  firm  "from  Opus  I.  to  the  Third  Symphony." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  August  \$th  (25^),  1880. 

"  You  ask  me  if  I  share  your  feelings  when  thinking  of 
the  possibility  of  monumental  fame  ?  Fame  !  What  con- 
tradictory sentiments  the  word  awakes  in  me !  On  the 
one  hand  I  desire  and  strive  for  it ;  on  the  other  I  detest 
it.  If  the  chief  thought  of  my  life  is  concentrated  upon 
my  creative  work,  I  cannot  do  otherwise  than  wish  for 

2  c 


386  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

fame.  If  I  feel  a  continual  impulse  to  express  myself  in 
the  language  of  music,  it  follows  that  I  need  to  be  heard ; 
and  the  larger  my  circle  of  sympathetic  hearers,  the  better. 
I  desire  with  all  my  soul  that  my  music  should  become 
more  widely  known,  and  that  the  number  of  those  people 
who  derive  comfort  and  support  from  their  love  of  it  should 
increase.  In  this  sense  not  only  do  I  love  fame,  but  it 
becomes  the  aim  of  all  that  is  most  earnest  in  my  work. 
But,  alas !  when  I  begin  to  reflect  that  with  an  increasing 
audience  will  come  also  an  increase  of  interest  in  my 
personality,  in  the  more  intimate  sense ;  that  there  will  be 
inquisitive  people  among  the  public  who  will  tear  aside  the 
curtain  behind  which  I  have  striven  to  conceal  my  private 
life ;  then  I  am  filled  with  pain  and  disgust,  so  that  I  half 
wish  to  keep  silence  for  ever,  in  order  to  be  left  in  peace. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  the  world,  for  I  can  say  that  my  con- 
science is  clear,  and  I  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of;  but 
the  thought  that  someone  may  try  to  force  the  inner  world 
of  my  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  all  my  life  I  have 
guarded  so  carefully  from  outsiders — this  is  sad  and  terrible. 
There  is  a  tragic  element,  dear  friend,  in  this  conflict  be- 
tween the  desire  for  fame  and  the  fear  of  its  consequences. 
I  am  attracted  to  it  like  the  moth  to  the  candle,  and  I,  too, 
burn  my  wings.  Sometimes  I  am  possessed  by  a  mad 
desire  to  disappear  for  ever,  to  be  buried  alive,  to  ignore 
all  that  is  going  on,  and  be  forgotten  by  everybody.  Then, 
alas!  the  creative  inspiration  returns.  ...  I  fly  to  the  flame 
and  burn  my  wings  once  more ! 

"  Do  you  know  my  wings  will  soon  have  to  bear  the 
weight  of  my  opera?  I  shall  be  up  to  .my  neck  in 
theatrical  and  official  mire,  and  be  suffocated  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  petty  intrigue,  of  microscopical,  but  poisonous, 
ambitions,  and  every  kind  of  dense  stupidity.  What 
is  to  be  done  ?  Either  do  not  write  operas,  or  be  prepared 
for  all  this !  I  believe  I  never  shall  compose  another 
opera.  When  I  look  back  upon  all  I  went  through  last 
spring,  when  I  was  occupied  with  the  performance  of  my 
last  one,  I  lose  all  desire  to  write  for  the  stage." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  387 

XI 

1880-1881 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  September  tfh  (i6tti),  1880. 

"  I  am  doing  nothing  whatever,  only  wandering  through 
the  forests  and  fields  all  day  long.  I  want  to  take  a  change 
from  my  own  work,  with  its  eternal  proof-correcting,  and 
to  play  as  much  as  possible  of  other  people's  music ;  so 
I  have  begun  to  study  Mozart's  Zauberflote.  Never  was 
so  senselessly  stupid  a  subject  set  to  such  captivating 
music.  How  thankful  I  am  that  the  circumstances  of  my 
musical  career  have  not  changed  by  a  hair's  breadth  the 
charm  Mozart  exercises  for  me!  You  would  not  believe, 
dear  friend,  what  wonderful  feelings  come  over  me  when 
I  give  myself  up  to  his  music.  It  is  something  quite 
different  from  the  stressful  delight  awakened  in  me  by 
Beethoven,  Schumann,  or  Chopin.  .  .  .  My  contemporaries 
were  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  modern  music  from  their 
childhood,  and  came  to  know  Mozart  in  later  years,  after 
they  had  made  acquaintance  with  Chopin,  who  reflects  so 
clearly  the  Byronic  despair  and  disillusionment.  Fortu- 
nately, fate  decreed  that  I  should  grow  up  in  an  unmusical 
family,  so  that  in  childhood  I  was  not  nourished  on  the 
poisonous  food  of  the  post-Beethoven  music.  The  same 
kind  fate  brought  me  early  in  life  in  contact  with  Mozart, 
and  thus  opened  up  to  me  unsuspected  horizons.  These 
early  impressions  can  never  be  effaced.  Do  you  know 
that  when  I  play  Mozart,  I  feel  brighter  and  younger, 
almost  a  youth  again  ?  But  enough.  I  know  that  we  do 
not  agree  in  our  appreciation  of  Mozart,  and  that  my 
dithyramb  does  not  interest  you  in  the  least." 


388  LIFE    AND    LETTERS    OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
11  KAMENKA,  September  §th  (2ist),  1880. 

"  How  fleeting  were  my  hopes  of  a  prolonged  rest ! 
Scarcely  had  I  begun  to  enjoy  a  few  days'  leisure  than  an 
indefinable  mood  of  boredom,  even  a  sense  of  not  being  in 
health,  came  over  me.  To-day  I  began  to  occupy  my  mind 
with  projects  for  a  new  symphony,  and  immediately  I  felt 
well  and  cheerful.  It  appears  as  though  I  could  not  spend 
a  couple  of  days  in  idleness,  unless  I  am  travelling.  I  dread 
lest  I  should  become  a  composer  of  Anton  Rubinstein's 
type,  who  considers  it  his  bounden  duty  to  present  a  new 
work  to  the  public  every  day  in  the  week.  In  this  way  he 
has  dissipated  his  great  creative  talent,  and  has  only  small 
change  to  offer  instead  of  the  sterling  gold  which  he  could 
have  given  us  had  he  written  in  moderation.  Lately  I 
have  been  seeking  some  kind  of  occupation  that  would 
take  me  completely  away  from  music  for  a  time,  and  would 
seriously  interest  me.  Alas,  I  have  not  discovered  it ! 
There  is  no  guide  to  the  history  of  music  in  Russian,  and  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  I  could  occupy  myself  with  a  book 
of  this  kind;  I  often  think  of  it.  But  then  I  should  have  to 
give  up  composing  for  at  least  two  years,  and  that  would 
be  too  much.  To  start  upon  a  translation — that  is  not 
very  interesting  work.  Write  a  monograph  upon  some 
artist  ?  So  much  has  already  beeri  written  about  the  great 
musicians  of  Western  Europe.  For  Glinka,  Dargomijsky, 
and  Serov  I  cannot  feel  any  enthusiasm,  for,  highly  as  I 
value  their  works,  I  cannot  admire  them  as  men.  I  have 
told  you  what  I  think  of  Glinka.  Dargomijsky  was  even 
less  cultured.  As  to  Serov,  he  was  a  clever  man  of  en- 
cyclopedic learning,  but  I  knew  him  personally,  and  could 
not  admire  his  moral  character.  As  far  as  I  understood  him, 
he  was  not  good-hearted,  and  that  is  sufficient  reason  why 
I  do  not  care  to  devote  my  leisure  to  him.  It  would  have 
been  a  delight  to  write  the  biography  of  Mozart,  but  it  is 
impossible  to  do  so  after  Otto  Jahn,  who  devoted  his  life 
to  the  task. 

"So  there  is  no  other  occupation  open  to  me  but  com- 
position. I  am  planning  a  symphony  or  a  string  quartet. 
I  do  not  know  which  I  shall  decide  upon." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  389 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  September  i2th  (24^),  1880. 

"  I  venture  to  approach  you,  dear  friend,  with  the  follow- 
ing request.  An  employe  in  a  counting-house,  here  in 
Kamenka,  has  a  son  who  is  remarkably  gifted  for  painting. 
It  seemed  to  me  cruel  not  to  give  him  the  means  of  study- 
ing, so  I  sent  him  to  Moscow  and  asked  Anatol  to  take 
him  to  the  School  of  Painting  and  Sculpture.  All  this  was 
arranged,  and  then  it  turned  out  that  the  boy's  mainten- 
ance would  cost  far  more  than  I  expected.  And  so  I 
thought  I  would  ask  you  whether  in  your  house  there  was 
any  corner  in  which  this  lad  might  live  ?  Not,  of  course, 
without  some  kind  of  supervision.  He  would  only  need  a 
tiny  room  with  a  bed,  a  cupboard,  and  a  table  where  he 
could  sleep  and  work.  Perhaps  your  servants  would  look 
after  him,  and  give  him  a  little  advice?  The  boy  is  of 
irreproachable  character  :  industrious,  good,  obedient,  clean 
in  his  person — in  short,  exemplary.  I  would  undertake 
his  meals.1  .  .  . 

"  I  have  also  unearthed  a  musical  talent  here,  in  the 
daughter  of  the  local  priest,  and  have  been  successful  in 
placing  her  at  the  Conservatoire." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  September  igth  (October  ist\  1880. 

"Yesterday  I  received  an  official  intimation  from  the 
Imperial  Opera  to  the  effect  that  my  opera  has  been 
accepted  and  will  be  produced  in  January.  The  libretto 
has  been  passed  by  the  censor  with  one  or  two  exceptions : 
the  Archbishop  must  be  called  the  Wanderer  (?) ;  'every 
allusion  to  the  Cross  must  be  omitted,  and  no  cross  may 
be  seen  upon  the  stage.'  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to 
submit." 

1  Unfortunately  the  boy  did  not  turn  out  an  artist  of  the  first  rank.  But 
his  education  was  not  wasted,  for  he  is  now  drawing-master  in  a  public  school 
in  South  Russia. 


390  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  September  2%th  (October  loM),  1880. 

"  Nicholas  Rubinstein  has  requested  me  to  write  an  im- 
portant work  for  chorus  and  orchestra,  to  be  produced  at 
the  Moscow  Exhibition.  Nothing  is  more  unpleasant  to 
me  than  the  manufacturing  of  music  for  such  occasions. 
.  .  .  But  I  have  not  courage  to  refuse.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  October  loth  (22*^),  1880. 

"  You  can  imagine,  dear  friend,  that  recently  my  Muse 
has  been  very  benevolent,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
written  two  long  works  very  rapidly :  a  Festival  Overture 
for  the  Exhibition  and  a  Serenade  in  four  movements  for 
string  orchestra.  The  overture1  will  be  very  noisy.  I 
wrote  it  without  much  warmth  of  enthusiasm ;  therefore  it 
has  no  great  artistic  value.  The  Serenade,  on  the  contrary, 
I  wrote  from  an  inward  impulse ;  I  felt  it,  and  venture  to 
hope  that  this  work  is  not  without  artistic  qualities." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  October  itfh  (26th),  1880. 

"...  How  glad  I  am  that  my  opera  pleases  you !  I 
am  delighted  you  find  no  '  Russianisms '  in  it,  for  I  dreaded 
this  and  had  striven  in  this  work  to  be  as  objective  as 
possible." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  October  itfh  (z6tti),  1880. 

"  Of  course  I  am  no  judge  of  my  own  works,  but  I  can 
truthfully  say  that — with  very  few  exceptions — they  have 
all  been  felt  and  lived  by  me,  and  have  come  straight  from 
my  heart.  It  is  the  greatest  happiness  to  know  that  there 
is  another  kindred  soul  in  the  world  who  has  such  a  true 

1  The  overture  entitled  The  Year  1812,  op.  49,  for  the  consecration  of 
the  Cathedral  of  the  Saviour,  Moscow.  It  was  one  of  the  three  commissions 
suggested  by  N.  Rubinstein,  referred  to  in  the  previous  letter. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  391 

and  delicate  appreciation  of  my  music.  The  thought  that 
she  will  discern  all  that  I  have  felt,  while  writing  this  or 
that  work,  invariably  warms  and  inspires  me.  There  are 
few  such  souls ;  among  those  who  surround  me  I  can  only 
point  to  my  brothers.  Modeste  is  very  near  to  me  in 
mind  and  sentiment.  Among  professional  musicians  I 
have  met  with  the  least  congenial  sympathy.  .  .  . 

"You  ask  why  I  have  never  written  a  trio.  Forgive 
me,  dear  friend,  I  would  do  anything  to  give  you  pleasure 
— but  this  is  beyond  me !  My  acoustic  apparatus  is  so 
ordered  that  I  simply  cannot  endure  the  combination  of 
pianoforte  with  violin  or  violoncello.  To  my  mind  the 
timbre  of  these  instruments  will  not  blend,  and  I  assure 
you  it  is  a  torture  to  me  to  have  to  listen  to  a  trio  or 
sonata  of  any  kind  for  piano  and  strings.  I  cannot  ex- 
plain this  physiological  peculiarity ;  I  simply  state  it  as  a 
fact.  Piano  and  orchestra — that  is  quite  another  matter. 
Here  again  there  is  no  blending  of  tone ;  the  piano  by  its 
elastic  tone  differs  from  all  other  instruments  in  timbre ; 
but  we  are  now  dealing  with  two  equal  opponents :  the 
orchestra,  with  its  power  and  inexhaustible  variety  of 
colour,  opposed  by  the  small,  unimposing,  but  high-mettled 
pianoforte,  which  often  comes  off  victorious  in  the  hands  of 
a  gifted  executant.  Much  poetry  is  contained  in  this  con- 
flict, and  endless  seductive  combinations  for  the  composer. 
On  the  other  hand,  how  unnatural  is  the  union  of  three 
such  individualities  as  the  pianoforte,  the  violin  and  the 
violoncello !  Each  loses  something  of  its  value.  The 
warm  and  singing  tone  of  the  violin  and  the  'cello  sounds 
limited  beside  that  king  of  instruments,  the  pianoforte ; 
while  the  latter  strives  in  vain  to  prove  that  it  can  sing 
like  its  rivals.  I  consider  the  piano  should  only  be 
employed  under  these  conditions  :  (i)  As  a  solo  instru- 
ment; (2)  opposed  to  the  orchestra;  (3)  for  accompani- 
ment, as  the  background  to  a  picture.  But  a  trio  implies 
equality  and  relationship,  and  do  these  exist  between 
stringed  solo  instruments  and  the  piano?  They  do  not; 
and  this  is  the  reason  why  there  is  always  something 
artificial  about  a  pianoforte  trio,  each  of  the  three  instru- 
ments being  continually  called  upon  to  express  what  the 
composer  imposes  upon  it,  rather  than  what  lies  within  its 


392  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

characteristic  utterance ;  while  the  musician  meets  with 
perpetual  difficulties  in  the  distribution  of  the  voices  and 
grouping  of  the  parts.  I  do  full  justice  to  the  inspired  art 
with  which  Beethoven,  Schumann,  and  Mendelssohn  have 
conquered  these  difficulties.  I  know  there  exist  many 
trios  containing  music  of  admirable  quality  ;  but  personally 
I  do  not  care  for  the  trio  as  a  form,  therefore  I  shall  never 
produce  anything  sincerely  inspired  through  the  medium 
of  this  combination  of  sounds.  I  know,  dear  friend,  that 
we  disagree  on  this  point,  and  that  you,  on  the  contrary, 
are  fond  of  a  trio  ;  but  in  spite  of  all  the  similarity  between 
our  artistic  temperaments,  we  remain  two  separate  in- 
dividualities ;  therefore  it  is  not  surprising  that  we  should 
not  agree  in  every  particular." 

During  the  autumn  of  1880  Tchaikovsky  suffered  greatly 
from  neuralgic  headaches.  He  remained  at  Kamenka 
until  early  in  November,  when  he  returned  to  Moscow  for 
a  short  time,  in  order  to  correct  proofs  and  settle  other 
business  matters.  Towards  the  end  of  the  month  he  wrote 
to  Nadejda  von  Meek  from  St.  Petersburg : — 

"November  27^  {December  gtfi),  1880. 

"  The  directors  of  the  Moscow  Musical  Society  are 
greatly  interested  in  my  Liturgy  (St.  John  Chrysostom). 
One  of  their  number,  named  Alexeiev,  gave  a  good  fee  to 
have  it  studied  by  one  of  the  best  choirs.  This  resulted 
in  a  performance  of  the  work  in  the  concert-room  of  the 
Moscow  Conservatoire.  The  choir  sang  wonderfully  well, 
and  it  was  altogether  one  of  the  happiest  moments  in  my 
musical  career.  It  was  decided  to  give  the  Liturgy  at  an 
extra  concert  of  the  Musical  Society.  On  the  same 
evening  my  Serenade  for  strings  was  played,  in  order  to 
give  me  an  agreeable  surprise.  For  the  moment  I  regard 
it  as  my  best  work.  .  .  . 

"  Have  I  told  you  already  that  Eugene  Oniegin  is  to  be 
splendidly  mounted  at  the  Opera  in  Moscow  ?  I  am  very 
pleased,  because  it  will  decide  the  important  question 
whether  the  work  will  become  part  of  the  repertory  or 
not,  that  is  to  say,  whether  it  will  keep  its  place  on  the 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  393 

stage.     As   I  never  intended   it  for  this  purpose,  I   did 
nothing  on  my  own  initiative  to  get  it  produced." 

While  in  St.  Petersburg,  Tchaikovsky  undertook  to  make 
some  changes  in  his  new  opera,  The  Maid  of  Orleans. 
This  was  in  order  that  the  part  of  Joan  of  Arc  herself 
might  be  taken  by  Madame  Kamensky,  a  mezzo-soprano 
of  unusual  range  and  quality. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  December  itfh  (26th),  1880. 

"  One  newspaper  blames  me  for  having  dedicated  my 
opera,  The  Maid  of  Orleans,  to  Napravnik,  and  considers 
it  an  unworthy  action  on  my  part  to  win  his  good  graces 
in  this  way.  Napravnik — one  of  the  few  thoroughly 
honest  musicians  in  Petersburg — will  be  very  much  upset. 
They  also  find  fault  with  me  because  my  opera  is  not 
on  sale. 

"  All  this  is  very  galling  and  vexatious,  but  I  do  not 
let  it  trouble  me  much. 

"  I  have  sworn  to  myself  to  avoid  Moscow  and  Peters- 
burg in  future." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  December  \ith  (29^),  1880. 

"  I  have  been  very  much  upset  the  last  few  days.  Last 
year  I  received  a  letter  from  a  young  man,  unknown  to 
me,  of  the  name  of  Tkachenko,  containing  the  curious 
proposal  that  I  should  take  him  as  my  servant  and  give 
him  music  lessons  in  return.  The  letter  was  so  clever  and 
original,  and  showed  such  a  real  love  of  music,  that  it 
affected  me  very  sympathetically.  A  correspondence  be- 
tween us  followed,  from  which  I  learnt  that  he  was  already 
twenty-three,  and  had  no  musical  knowledge.  I  wrote 
frankly  to  him  that  at  his  age  it  was  too  late  to  begin 
to  study  music.  After  this,  I  heard  no  more  of  him  for 
nine  months.  The  day  before  yesterday  I  received  another 
letter  from  him,  returning  all  my  previous  correspondence, 
in  order  that  it  might  not  fall  into  strange  hands  after  his 


394  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

death.  He  took  leave  of  me  and  said  he  had  resolved  to 
commit  suicide.  The  letter  was  evidently  written  in  a 
moment  of  great  despair,  and  touched  me  profoundly.  I 
saw  from  the  postmark  that  it  was  written  from  Voronezh, 
and  decided  to  telegraph  to  someone  there,  asking  them 
to  seek  Tkachenko  with  the  help  of  the  police  and  tell  him 
— if  it  were  not  already  too  late — he  might  expect  a  letter 
from  me.  Fortunately,  Anatol  had  a  friend  at  Voronezh, 
to  whom  we  telegraphed  at  once.  Last  night  I  heard  from 
him  that  Tkachenko  had  been  discovered  in  time.  He 
was  in  a  terrible  condition. 

"  I  immediately  sent  him  some  money  and  invited  him 
to  come  to  Moscow.  How  it  will  end  I  do  not  know,  but 
I  am  glad  to  have  saved  him  from  self-destruction." 

At  this  time  Tchaikovsky's  valet,  Alexis,  was  compelled 
to  fulfil  his  military  service,  and  master  and  servant  were 
equally  affected  at  the  moment  of  separation. 

On  December  6th  (i8th)  the  Italian  Capriccio  was  per- 
formed for  the  first  time  under  the  conductorship  of 
Nicholas  Rubinstein.  Its  success  was  incontestable,  al- 
though criticism  varied  greatly  as  to  its  merits,  and  the 
least  favourable  described  it  as  being  marred  by  "coarse 
and  cheap"  effects.  In  St.  Petersburg,  where  it  was  given 
a  few  weeks  later  by  Napravnik,  it  met  with  scant  appre- 
ciation ;  Cui  pronounced  it  to  be  "  no  work  of  art,  but  a 
valuable  gift  to  the  programmes  of  open-air  concerts." 

The  performance  of  the  Liturgy  took  place  in  Moscow 
on  December  i8th  (soth).  Thanks  to  the  stir  which 
had  been  made  by  the  confiscation  of  Tchaikovsky's  first 
sacred  work,  the  concert  was  unusually  crowded.  At  the 
close  the  composer  was  frequently  recalled.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  considerable  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the 
success  of  the  work. 

Tchaikovsky  was  not  much  affected  by  the  views  of  the 
professional  critics ;  but  he  was  deeply  hurt  by  a  letter 
emanating  from  the  venerable  Ambrose,  vicar  of  Moscow, 
which  appeared  in  the  Rouss.  This  letter  complained  that 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  395 

the  Liturgy  was  the  most  sacred  possession  of  the  people, 
and  should  only  be  heard  in  church ;  that  to  use  the  service 
as  a  libretto  was  a  profanation  of  the  holy  words.  It  con- 
cluded by  congratulating  the  orthodox  that  the  text  had 
at  least  been  treated  by  a  worthy  musician,  but  what 
would  happen  if  some  day  a  "  Rosenthal "  or  a  "  Rosen- 
bluhm"  should  lay  hands  upon  it?  Inevitably  then  "our 
most  sacred  words  would  be  mocked  at  and  hissed." 

Fatigued  by  the  excitement  of  these  weeks,  Tchaikovsky 
returned  to  Kamenka  to  spend  Christmas  in  the  restful 
quiet  of  the  country. 

The  first  performance  of  Eugene  Oniegin  at  the  Opera 
House  in  Moscow  took  place  on  January  I  ith  (23rd),  1881. 
The  scenery  was  not  new  and  left  much  to  be  desired. 
The  singers,  with  the  exception  of  Madame  Kroutikov, 
who  took  the  part  of  Madame  Larina,  and  Bartsal,  who 
appeared  as  the  Frenchman  Triquet,  were  lacking  in  ex- 
perience. The  costumes,  however,  were  perfectly  true  to 
history.  The  performance  evoked  much  applause,  but 
more  for  the  composer  than  for  the  opera  itself.  The 
great  public  allowed  the  best  situations  in  the  work  to  pass 
unnoticed,  but  the  opera  found  an  echo  in  the  hearts  of  the 
minority,  so  that  gradually  the  work  gained  the  apprecia- 
tion of  the  crowd  and  won  a  lasting  success. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  January  \2th  (24^),  1881. 

"  Yesterday  was  the  first  night  of  Etigene  Oniegin. 
I  was  oppressed  by  varied  emotions,  both  at  the  rehearsals 
and  on  the  night  itself.  At  first  the  public  was  very  re- 
served ;  by  degrees,  however,  the  applause  grew  and  at  the 
last  all  went  well.  The  performance  and  mounting  of  the 
opera  were  satisfactory.  .  .  . 

"Tkachenko  (the  young  man  who  wanted  to  commit 
suicide)  has  arrived.  I  have  seen  him.  On  the  whole  he 
made  a  sympathetic  impression  upon  me.  His  sufferings 


396  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

are  the  outcome  of  the  internal  conflict  which  exists  be- 
tween his  aspirations  and  stern  reality.  He  is  intelligent 
and  cultivated,  yet  in  order  to  earn  his  bread  he  has  had 
to  be  a  railway  guard.  He  is  very  anxious  to  become 
a  musician.  He  is  nervous,  and  morbidly  modest,  and 
seems  to  be  broken  in  spirit.  Poverty  and  solitude  have 
made  him  misanthropical.  His  views  are  rather  strange, 
but  he  is  by  no  means  stupid.  I  am  sorry  for  him  and 
have  agreed  to  look  after  him.  I  have  decided  that  he 
shall  go  to  the  Conservatoire,  and  then  it  will  be  seen 
whether  he  can  take  up  music,  or  some  other  career.  It 
will  not  be  difficult  to  make  a  useful  and  contented  man 
of  him." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  January  igtk  (^ist),  1881. 

"  Dear,  kind  friend,  it  has  come  to  this :  I  take  up  my 
pen  to  write  to  you  unwillingly,  because  I  feel  the  im- 
mediate need  to  pour  out  all  the  suffering  and  bitterness 
which  is  heaped  up  in  me.  You  will  wonder  how  a  man 
who  is  successful  in  his  work  can  still  complain  and  rail  at 
fate  ?  But  my  successes  are  not  so  important  as  they 
seem  ;  besides  they  do  not  compensate  me  for  the  intoler- 
able sufferings  I  undergo  when  I  mix  in  the  society  of  my 
fellow-creatures ;  when  I  have  to  be  constantly  posing 
before  them ;  when  I  cannot  live  as  I  wish,  and  as  I  am 
accustomed  to  do,  but  am  tossed  to  and  fro  like  a  ball  in 
the  round  of  city  life.  .  .  . 

"  Eugene  Oniegin  does  not  progress.  The  prima  donna 
is  seriously  ill,  so  that  the  opera  cannot  be  performed 
again  for  some  time.  .  .  .  The  criticisms  upon  it  are  peculiar. 
Some  critics  find  the  '  couplets '  for  Triquet  the  best  thing 
in  the  work  and  think  Tatiana's  part  dry  and  colourless. 
Others  think  I  have  no  inspiration,  but  great  cleverness. 
The  Petersburg  papers  write  in  chorus  to  rend  my  Italian 
Capriccio,  declaring  it  to  be  vulgar ;  and  Cui  prophesies 
that  The  Maid  of  Orleans  will  turn  out  a  commonplace 
affair." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  397 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  PETERSBURG,  January  2^th  (February  8//fc),  1881. 

"  I  will  tell  you  something  about  Tkachenko.  He  is  an 
extraordinary  being!  I  had  looked  after  him  in  every 
respect,  and  he  began  his  studies  with  grea^  zeal.  The  day 
before  I  left  Moscow  he  came  to  'talk  to  me  on  serious 
business,'  and  the  longer  he  talked,  the  more  convinced  I 
became  that  he  is  mentally  and  morally  deranged.  He  has 
taken  it  into  his  head  that  /  am  not  keeping  him  for  his 
own  sake,  but  in  order  to  acquire  the  reputation  of  a  bene- 
factor. He  added  that  he  was  not  disposed  to  be  the  victim 
of  my  desire  for  popularity,  and  absolutely  refused  to 
recognise  me  as  his  benefactor,  so  I  was  not  to  reckon  upon 
his  gratitude. 

"  I  replied  coldly,  and  advised  him  to  devote  himself  to 
his  work,  without  troubling  himself  as  to  my  motives  for 
assisting  him.  I  assured  him  I  was  quite  indifferent  as  to 
his  gratitude,  that  I  was  just  leaving  the  town,  and  begged 
him  not  to  waste  his  thoughts  on  me,  but  to  fix  them  ex- 
clusively upon  his  work. 

"  I  have  entrusted  him  to  the  supervision  of  Albrecht,  the 
Inspector  of  the  Conservatoire. 

"  Have  you  heard  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein's  illness  ?  His 
condition  is  serious,  but  in  spite  of  it  he  goes  about  and 
does  his  work.  The  doctors  insist  upon  his  going  away 
and  taking  rest ;  but  he  declares  he  could  not  live  without 
the  work  he  is  used  to.  .  .  ." 

On  January  2ist  (February  2nd)  Tchaikovsky's  Second 
Symphony  was  given  in  its  revised  form  at  the  Musical 
Society  in  St.  Petersburg,  and,  according  to  the  newspapers, 
met  with  a  great  success.  Not  a  single  critic,  however, 
observed  the  changes  in  the  work,  nor  that  the  first  move- 
ment was  entirely  new. 


398  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PETERSBURG,  February  ist  (i$th),  1881. 

".  .  .  The  mounting  of  The  Maid  of  Orleans  will  be 
very  beggarly.  The  Direction,  which  has  spent  10,000 
(roubles)  upon  a  new  ballet,  refuses  to  sacrifice  a  kopeck 
for  the  opera." 

To  the  same. 
"PETERSBURG,  February  *jth  (i<)th\  1881. 

"  The  opera  has  been  postponed  until  February  1 3th.  I 
shall  set  off  the  very  next  day.  The  plan  of  my  journey 
is  :  Vienna,  Venice,  Rome.  The  rehearsals  are  in  progress. 
Most  of  the  artists  show  great  sympathy  for  my  music,  of 
which  I  am  very  proud.  But  the  officials  are  doing  all  in 
their  power  to  spoil  the  success  of  the  opera.  A  certain 
Loukashevich  is  trying  by  every  kind  of  intrigue  to  pre- 
vent Madame  Kamensky  from  taking  the  part  of  Joan  of 
Arc.  When  at  yesterday's  rehearsal — for  scenic  and 
vocal  reasons — I  transferred  a  melody  from  Joan's  part 
to  that  of  Agnes  Sorel,  he  declared  /  had  no  right  to  do 
such  a  thing  without  permission.  Sometimes  I  feel  inclined 
to  withdraw  the  score  and  leave  the  theatre." 

The  production  of  The  Maid  of  Orleans  at  the  Maryinsky 
Theatre  left  a  very  unpleasant  memory  in  Tchaikovsky's 
mind.  The  intrigues  between  the  prima  donnas,  the  hostile 
attitude  of  the  Direction,  his  dissatisfaction  with  some  of 
the  singers — all  embittered  the  composer  in  the  highest 
degree.  His  artistic  vanity  was  exceedingly  sensitive, 
even  when  his  best  friends  told  him  "  the  plain  truth."  He 
submitted  to  the  criticisms  of  Napravnik,  and  followed  his 
advice  regarding  many  details,  because  he  was  convinced 
of  this  musician's  goodwill  and  great  experience.  If  he 
got  through  this  trying  time  fairly  well,  it  was  thanks  to 
the  fact  that  he  himself,  as  well  as  the  artists  who  were 
taking  part  in  the  work,  did  not  doubt  that  the  opera  would 
eventually  have  a  great  success. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  399 

On  the  day  following  the  performance,  Tchaikovsky 
wrote : — 

"The  success  of  the  opera  was  certain,  even  after  the 
first  act  .  .  .  the  second  scene  of  the  third  act  was  least 
applauded,  but  the  fourth  act  was  very  well  received. 
Altogether  I  was  recalled  twenty-four  times.  Kamenskaya 
was  admirable;  she  even  acted  well,  which  she  seldom  does. 
Prianichnikov  was  the  best  among  the  other  singers." 

Tchaikovsky  started  for  Italy  under  this  favourable  im- 
pression, and  first  became  aware  through  a  telegram  from 
Petersburg  in  the  Neue  Freie  Presse  that,  in  spite  of  an 
ovation  from  the  public,  The  Maid  of  Orleans  was  "  poor 
in  inspiration,  wearisome,  and  monotonous."  This  was  his 
first  intimation  of  the  attacks  upon  the  opera  which  were 
made  by  the  Press,  and  which  caused  the  opera  to  be  hastily 
withdrawn  from  the  repertory  of  the  Maryinsky  Theatre. 

Cui,  as  usual,  led  the  chorus  of  unfavourable  opinion, 
but  all  the  other  critics  were  more  or  less  in  agreement 
with  his  views. 


XII 

Impatient  for  the  sunshine, Tchaikovsky  broke  his  journey 
at  Florence,  whence  he  wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek  on 
February  I9th  (March  3rd),  1881  : — 

"  What  light !  What  sunshine  !  What  a  delight  to  sit 
at  the  open  window  with  a  bunch  of  violets  before  me,  and 
to  drink  in  the  fresh  air !  I  am  full  of  sensations.  I  feel 
so  well,  and  yet  so  sad — I  could  weep.  Yet  I  know  not 
why.  Only  music  can  express  these  feelings." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ROME,  February  22nd  (March  6th)  t  1881. 

"  I  have  just  been  lunching  with  the  Grand  Dukes  Serge 
and  Paul  Alexandrovich.  The  invitation  came  early  this 
morning,  and  I  had  to  go  out  in  search  of  a  dress-coat.  It 


400  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

was  no  easy  matter  to  procure  one,  for,  being  Sunday, 
nearly  all  the  shops  were  closed.  It  was  with  difficulty 
that  I  arrived  at  the  Villa  Sciarra  in  proper  time.  The 
Grand  Duke  Constantine  introduced  me  to  his  cousins,  who 
showed  me  much  kindness  and  attention.  All  three  are 
very  sympathetic ;  but  you  can  imagine,  with  my  misan- 
thropical shyness,  how  trying  I  find  such  meetings  with 
strangers,  especially  with  men  of  that  aristocratic  world. 
On  Tuesday  there  is  a  dinner  at  Countess  Brobinsky's,  and 
I  have  also  been  invited  to  a  soiree  by  Countess  Sollo- 
goub.  I  did  not  expect  to  have  to  lead  this  kind  of  life  in 
Rome.  I  shall  have  to  leave,  for  no  doubt  other  invita- 
tions await  me  which  I  cannot  refuse.  Lest  I  should  offend 
somebody,  I  am  weak  enough  invariably  to  accept.  I  have 
not  strength  of  mind  to  decline  all  such  engagements." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"ROME,  February  26th  (March  io//&),  1881. 
"  I  can  just  imagine  how  you  are  making  fun  of  my 
worldliness !  I  cannot  understand  where  I  get  strength  to 
endure  this  senseless  existence !  Naturally,  I  am  annoyed, 
and  my  visit  to  Rome  is  spoilt — but  I  have  not  altogether 
lost  heart,  and  find  occasional  opportunities  of  enjoying  the 
place.  O  society !  What  can  be  .more  appalling,  duller, 
more  intolerable?  Yesterday  I  was  dreadfully  bored  at 
Countess  X.'s,  but  so  heroically  did  I  conceal  my  feelings 
that  my  hostess  in  bidding  me  good-bye  said  :  '  I  cannot 
understand  why  you  have  not  come  to  me  before.  I  am 
sure  that  after  to-night  you  will  repent  not  having  made 
my  acquaintance  sooner.'  This  is  word  for  word !  She 
really  pities  me !  May  the  devil  take  them  all ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"NAPLES,  March  $rd  (\$th\  1881. 

"Yesterday  I  was  about  to  write  to  you  when  Prince 
Stcherbatiov  came  to  tell  me  of  the  Emperor's  death,1 
which  was  a  great  shock  to  me.  At  such  moments  it  is 

1  Alexander  II.,  who  was  assassinated  on  the  bank  of  the  Catharine 
Canal. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  401 

very  miserable  to  be  abroad.  I  long  to  be  in  Russia, 
nearer  to  the  source  of  information,  and  to  take  part  in 
the  demonstrations  accorded  to  the  new  Tsar  ...  in  short, 
to  be  living  in  touch  with  one's  own  people.  It  seems  so 
strange  after  receiving  such  news  to  hear  them  chattering 
at  table  d'hote  about  the  beauties  of  Sorrento,  etc. 

"  The  Grand  Dukes  wanted  to  take  me  with  them  to 
Athens  and  Jerusalem,  which  they  intended  to  visit  a  few 
days  hence.  But  this  has  fallen  through,  for  all  three  are 
on  their  way  to  Petersburg  by  now." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"March  itfh  (25^),  1881. 

"DEAR  MODI, — In  Nice  I  heard  by  telegram  from 
Jurgenson  that  Nicholai  Grigorievich  (Rubinstein)  was 
very  ill.  Then  two  telegrams  followed  from  the  Grand 
Hote^  (i)  that  his  state  was  hopeless,  (2)  that  he  had 
already  passed  away.  I  left  Nice  at  once.  Mentally,  I 
endured  the  torments  of  the  damned  during  my  journey. 
I  must  confess,  to  my  shame,  I  suffered  less  from  the  sense 
of  my  irreparable  loss,  than  from  the  horror  of  seeing 
in  Paris — in  the  Grand  Hotel  too — the  body  of  poor 
Rubinstein.  I  was  afraid  I  should  not  be  able  to  bear 
the  shock,  although  I  exerted  all  my  will-power  to  conquer 
this  shameful  cowardice.  My  fears  were  in  vain.  The 
body  had  been  taken  to  the  Russian  church  at  six  o'clock 
this  morning.  At  the  Hotel  I  found  only  Madame 
Tretiakov,1  who  never  left  Nicholas  Rubinstein  during  the 
last  six  days  of  his  life.  She  gave  me  all  details."2 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  March  i6th  (28^),  1881. 

"You  regret  having  written  me  the  letter  in  which  you 
gave  expression  to  your  anger  against  those  who  have 
embittered  your  life.  But  I  never  for  an  instant  believed 

1  Wife  of  S.  Tretiakov,  the  wealthy  art  patron,  afterwards  chief  burgomaster 
of  Moscow. 

2  These  details,  in  the  form  of  a  long  letter,  were  communicated  by  Tchai- 
kovsky to  the  Moscow  Viedomosti. 

2    D 


402  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

that  you  could  really  hate  and  never  forgive,  whatever 
might  happen.  It  is  possible  to  be  a  Christian  in  life  and 
deed  without  clinging  closely  to  dogma,  and  I  am  sure  that 
un-Christian  feelings  could  only  dwell  in  you  for  a  brief 
moment,  as  an  involuntary  protest  against  human  wicked- 
ness. Such  really  good  people  as  you  do  not  know  what 
hate  means  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  What  can  be 
more  aimless  and  unprofitable  than  hate?  According  to 
Christ's  words,  our  enemies  only  injure  us  from  ignorance. 
O,  if  only  men  could  only  be  Christians  in  truth  as  well 
as  in  form !  If  only  everyone  was  penetrated  by  the 
simple  truths  of  Christian  morality!  That  can  never  be, 
for  then  eternal  and  perfect  happiness  would  reign  on 
earth ;  and  we  are  imperfect  creations,  who  only  under- 
stand goodness  and  happiness  as  the  opposites  of  evil.  We 
are,  as  it  were,  specially  created  to  be  eternally  reverting  to 
evil,  to  perpetually  seek  the  ideal,  to  aspire  to  everlasting 
truth — and  never  to  reach  the  goal.  At  least  we  should  be 
indulgent  to  those  who,  in  their  blindness,  are  attracted  to 
evil  by  some  inborn  instinct.  Are  they  to  be  blamed 
because  they  exist  only  to  bring  the  chosen  people  into 
stronger  relief?  No,  we  can  only  say  with  Christ,  '  Lord, 
forgive  them,  they  know  not  what  they  do.'  I  feel  I  am 
expressing  vague  thoughts  vaguely — thoughts  which  are 
wandering  through  my  mind,  because  a  man  who  was  good 
and  dear  to  me  has  just  vanished  from  this  earth.  But  if 
I  think  and  speak  vaguely,  I  feel  it  all  clearly  enough. 
My  brain  is  obscured  to-day.  How  could  it  be  otherwise 
in  face  of  those  enigmas — Death,  the  aim  and  meaning  of 
life,  its  finality  or  immortality  ?  Therefore  the  light  of  faith 
penetrates  my  soul  more  and  more.  Yes,  dear  friend,  I 
feel  myself  increasingly  drawn  towards  this,  the  one  and 
only  shield  against  every  calamity.  I  am  learning  to  love 
God,  as  formerly  I  did  not  know  how  to  do.  Now  and  then 
doubts  come  back  to  me ;  I  still  strive  at  times  to  conceive 
the  inconceivable  with  my  feeble  intellect ;  but  the  voice 
of  divine  truth  speaks  louder  within  me.  I  sometimes 
find  an  indescribable  joy  in  bowing  before  the  Inscrutable, 
Omniscient  God.  I  often  pray  to  Him  with  tears  in  my 
eyes  (where  He  is,  what  He  is,  I  know  not ;  but  I  know 
He  exists),  and  implore  Him  to  grant  me  love  and  peace, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  403 

to  pardon  and  enlighten  me ;  and  it  is  sweet  to  say  to 
Him,  '  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done/  because  I  know  His  will  is 
holy.  Let  me  also  tell  you  that  I  see  clearly  the  finger  of 
God  in  my  own  life,  showing  me  the  way  and  upholding 
me  in  all  danger.  Why  it  has  been  God's  will  to  shield  me 
I  cannot  say.  I  wish  to  be  humble,  and  not  to  regard 
myself  as  one  of  the  elect,  for  God  loves  all  His  creatures 
equally.  I  only  know  He  really  cares  for  me,  and  I  shed 
tears  of  gratitude  for  His  eternal  goodness.  That  is  not 
enough.  I  want  to  accustom  myself  to  the  thought  that 
all  trials  are  good  in  the  end.  I  want  to  love  God  always, 
not  only  when  He  sends  me  good,  but  when  He  proves 
me ;  for  somewhere  there  must  exist  that  kingdom  of 
eternal  happiness,  which  we  seek  so  vainly  upon  earth. 
The  time  will  come  when  all  the  questionings  of  our 
intellects  will  be  answered,  and  we  shall  know  why  God 
sends  us  these  trials.  I  want  to  believe  that  there  is 
another  life.  When  this  desire  becomes  a  fact,  I  shall  be 
happy,  in  so  far  as  happiness  is  possible  in  this  world. 

"  To-day  I  attended  the  funeral  service  in  the  church, 
and  afterwards  I  accompanied  the  remains  to  the  Gare  du 
Nord,  and  saw  that  the  leaden  coffin  was  packed  in  a 
wooden  case  and  placed  in  a  luggage  van.  It  was  painful 
and  horrible  to  think  that  our  poor  Nicholai  Grigorievich 
should  return  thus  to  Moscow.  Yes,  it  was  intensely  pain- 
ful. But  faith  has  now  taken  root  in  me,  and  I  took 
comfort  from  the  thought  that  it  was  God's  inscrutable  and 
holy  will." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  March  17/^(29^),  1881. 

"  Modi,  we  shall  soon  meet  again,  so  I  will  say  nothing 
now  about  the  last  sad  days.  My  present  trip  has  been 
altogether  unfortunate  and  calculated  to  weaken  my  love 
of  going  abroad.  Once  more  I  am  face  to  face  with 
changes  which  will  affect  my  whole  future  life.  First,  the 
death  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  which  is  of  great  importance 
to  me,  and,  secondly,  the  fact  that  Nadejda  von  Meek  is  on 
the  verge  of  bankruptcy.  I  heard  this  talked  about  in 
Moscow,  and  begged  her  to  tell  me  the  truth.  From  her 


404  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

reply  I  see  it  is  actually  so.  She  writes  that  the  sum  I 
receive  from  her  is  nothing  as  compared  to  the  millions 
that  have  been  lost,  and  that  she  wishes  to  continue  to  pay 
it  as  before,  but  begs  me  not  to  mention  it  to  anyone. 
But  you  see  that  this  allowance  is  no  longer  a  certainty, 
and  therefore  sooner  or  later  I  must  return  to  my  teaching. 
All  this  is  far  from  cheerful." 


To  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  April  29^  (May  nth),  1881. 

"  I  only  stayed  a  few  days  in  Moscow,  where  I  was 
forced  to  collect  all  my  strength  in  order  to  decline  most 
emphatically  the  directorship  of  the  Conservatoire.  I 
arrived  here  to-day." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"  KAMENKA,  May  *]th  (19^),  1881. 

"As  my  sister  is  ill  and  has  gone  away  with  her  husband, 
I  am  playing  the  part  of  the  head  of  the  family  and  spend 
most  of  my  time  with  the  children.  This  would  be  a 
nuisance  if  I  did  not  care  for  them  as  though  they  were 
my  own.  ...  I  have  no  inclination  to  compose.  I  wish  you 
would  commission  something.  Is  there  really  nothing  you 
want?  Some  external  impulse  might  perhaps  reawaken 
my  suspended  activity.  Perhaps  I  am  getting  old  and  all 
my  songs  are  sung." 

To  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA,  May  Stti  (20^),  1881. 

"  I  think  I  have  now  found  a  temporary  occupation.  In 
my  present  religious  frame  of  mind  it  will  do  me  good  to 
dip  into  Russian  church  music.  At  present  I  am  studying 
the  '  rites,'  that  is  to  say,  the  root  of  our  church  tunes,  and 
I  want  to  try  to  harmonise  them. 

"  Every  day  I  pray  that  God  may  preserve  and  uphold 
you  for  the  sake  of  so  many  people." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  405 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"KAMENKA,  May  gth  (2U/),  1881. 

"  I  beg  you  to  send  me  the  following  : — 

"(i)  I  want  to  write  a  Vesper  service  and  require  the 
words  in  full.  If  there  is  a  book  on  sale,  a  kind  of  '  short 
guide  to  the  Liturgy  for  laymen/  please  send  it  to  me. 

"  (2)  I  have  begun  to  study  the  rites  and  ceremonials  of 
the  Church,  but  to  acquire  sufficient  information  on  the 
subject  I  need  Razoumovsky's  History  of  Church  Music. 
I  send  thanks  in  anticipation." 

Tchaikovsky  describes  his  condition  at  this  time  as 
"  gre7>  without  inspiration  or  joy,"  but  "  physically  sound." 
He  often  felt  that  the  spring  of  inspiration  had  run  dry, 
but  consoled  himself  with  the  remembrance  that  he  had 
passed  through  other  periods  "equally  devoid  of  creative 
impulse." 

To  E.  Napravnik. 

" KAMENKA,  June  i^th  (29^),  1881. 

"  Last  winter,  at  N.  Rubinstein's  request,  I  wrote  a 
Festival  Overture  for  the  concerts  of  the  Exhibition, 
entitled  The  Year  1812.  Could  you  possibly  manage  to 
have  this  played  ?  If  you  like  I  will  send  the  score  for  you 
to  see.  It  is  not  of  any  great  value,  and  I  shall  not  be  at 
all  surprised  or  hurt  if  you  consider  the  style  of  the  music 
unsuitable  to  a  symphony  concert." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KAMENKA,  June  2\st  (July  $rrf),  1881. 

"My  Vesper  music  compels  me  to  look  into  many  service 
books,  with  and  without  music.  If  you  only  knew  how 
difficult  it  is  to  understand  it  all !  Every  service  contains 
some  chants  that  may  be  modified  and  others  that  may 
not.  The  latter — such  as  Khvalitey  and  Velikoe  slavoslovie 
— do  not  present  any  great  difficulties ;  but  those  that 
change — such  as  the  canonical  verses  to  Gospodi  vozzvakh 
— are  a  science  in  themselves,  for  which  a  lifetime  of  study 


406  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

would  hardly  suffice.  I  should  like  at  least  to  succeed  in 
one  Canon,  the  one  relating  to  the  Virgin.  Imagine  that, 
in  spite  of  all  assistance,  I  can  arrive  neither  at  the  words 
nor  the  music.  I  went  to  ask  our  priest  to  explain  it  to  me, 
but  he  assured  me  that  he  himself  did  not  know  anything 
about  it  and  went  through  the  routine  of  his  office  without 
referring  to  the  Typikon.  I  am  swallowed  up  in  this  sea 
of  Graduals,  Hymns,  Canticles,  Tropaires,  Exapostelaires, 
etc.,  etc.  I  asked  our  priest  how  his  assistant  managed, 
and  how  he  knew  how,  when,  and  where,  to  sing  or  read  (for 
the  Church  prescribes  to  the  smallest  detail  on  what  days, 
with  what  voice,  and  how  many  times  things  have  to  be 
read).  He  replied  :  '  I  do  not  know  ;  before  every  service 
he  has  to  look  out  something  for  himself.'  If  the  initiated 
do  not  know,  what  can  a  poor  sinner  like  myself  expect  ?  " 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"KAMENKA,/W^  2 15 1  (July  $rd)>  1881. 

"  I  have  received  Bortniansky's  works  and  looked  them 
through.  To  edit  them  would  be  a  somewhat  finicking 
and  wearisome  task,  because  the  greater  number  of  his 
compositions  are  dull  and  worthless.  Why  do  you  want  to 
issue  a  '  Complete  Edition '  ?  Let  me  advise  you  to  give 
up  this  plan  and  only  bring  out  a  '  Selection  from  the 
works  of  Bortniansky.'  .  .  .  '  Complete  Edition  '  ?  An  im- 
posing word,  but  out  of  place  in  connection  with  a  man  of 
no  great  talent,  who  has  written  a  mass  of  rubbish,  and 
only  about  a  dozen  good  things.  I  am  doubtful  whether 
I  should  lend  my  name  to  such  a  publication  ...  on  the 
other  hand  I  am  a  musician,  and  live  by  my  work ;  con- 
sequently there  is  nothing  derogatory  in  my  editing  this 
rubbish  for  the  sake  of  what  I  can  earn.  My  pride,  how- 
ever, suffers  from  it.  Think  it  over  and  send  me  a  reply." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  KAMENKA, /«#  yd  (i$th\  1881. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  dear,  you  like  my  songs  and  duets. 
1  will  take  this  opportunity  of  telling  you  which  of  these 
vocal  compositions  I  care  for  most.  Among  the  duets 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  407 

-  I  prefer  'Thranen'  ('Tears'),  and  among  the  songs:  (i) 
the  one  to  Tolstoi's  words,  (2)  the  verses  of  Mickievicz, 
and  (3)  'War  ich  nicht  der  Halm.'  The  '  Schottische 
Ballade '  is  also  one  of  my  favourites,  but  I  am  convinced 
it  will  never  be  so  popular  as  I  fancied  it  would.  It  should 
not  be  so  much  sung,  as  declaimed,  but  with  the  most 
impassioned  feeling. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"  KAMENKA, /#/y  $\st  (August  i2th\  1881. 

"  I  am  working  intensely  hard  at  Bortniansky  to  get  this 
dreadful  work  done  as  soon  as  possible.  His  works  as  a 
rule  are  quite  antipathetic  to  me.  I  shall  finish  the  job, 
for  I  always  complete  anything  I  have  begun.  But  some 
day  I  shall  actually  burst  with  rage.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  August  2^th  (September  $th\  1881. 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  could  hear  my  Serenade 
properly  performed.  It  loses  so  much  on  the  piano,  and 
I  think  the  middle  movements — played  by  the  violins — 
would  win  your  sympathy.  As  regards  the  first  and  last 
movements  you  are  right.  They  are  merely  a  play  of 
sounds,  and  do  not  touch  the  heart.  The  first  movement 
is  my  homage  to  Mozart ;  it  is  intended  to  be  an  imitation 
of  his  style,  and  I  should  be  delighted  if  I  thought  I  had 
in  any  way  approached  my  model.  Do  not  laugh,  dear,  at 
my  zeal  in  standing  up  for  my  latest  creation.  Perhaps  my 
paternal  feelings  are  so  warm  because  it  is  the  youngest 
child  of  my  fancy.  .  .  . 

"As  regards  Balakirev's  songs,  I  am  quite  of  your 
opinion.  They  are  actually  little  masterpieces,  and  I  am 
passionately  fond  of  some  of  them.  There  was  a  time 
when  I  could  not  listen  to  '  Selim's  Song '  without  tears  in 
my  eyes,  and  now  I  rank  '  The  Song  of  the  Golden  Fish ' 
very  highly." 


408  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 

"  August  2$th  (September  6th\  1881. 

"  I  am  almost  certain  my  Vespers  will  not  please  you. 
I  see  nothing  in  them  which  would  win  your  approval. 
Do  you  know,  Sergei  Ivanovich,  I  believe  I  shall  never 
write  anything  good  again,  I  am  no  longer  in  a  condition 
to  compose.  What  form  should  I  choose  ? — none  of  them 
appeal  to  me.  Always  the  same  indispensable  remplissage, 
the  same  routine,  the  same  revolting  methods,  the  same 
conventions  and  shams.  If  I  were  young,  this  aversion  from 
composition  might  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  I  was 
gathering  my  forces,  and  would  suddenly  strike  out  some 
new  path  of  my  own  making.  But,  alas !  the  years  are 
beginning  to  tell.  To  write  in  a  nai've  way,  as  the  bird 
sings,  is  no  longer  possible,  and  I  lack  energy  to  invent 
something  new.  I  do  not  tell  you  this  because  I  hope  for 
your  encouraging  denial,  but  simply  as  a  fact.  I  do  not 
regret  it.  I  have  worked  much  in  my  time,  in  a  desultory 
way,  and  now  I  am  tired.  It  is  time  to  rest.  .  .  . 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  coming  back  to  the  Con- 
servatoire ;  at  present  this  is  impossible.  I  cannot  answer 
for  the  future.  You,  on  the  contrary,  seem  made  to  carry 
on  Rubinstein's  work." 


XIII 
1881-1882 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  written  in 
1876,  Tchaikovsky  says:  "I  no  longer  compose  anything 
— a  sure  indication  of  an  agitated  mind." 

From  November,  1880,  until  September,  1881,  Tchai- 
kovsky wrote  nothing — from  which  we  may  conclude 
that  during  this  time  he  again  underwent  a  period  of 
spiritual  and  mental  disturbance. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  during  the  time  he  spent  in 
Moscow  and  Petersburg  (November  to  February)  he 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  409 

should  not  have  written  a  note.  We  know  that  town  life — to 
which  was  added  at  this  time  the  anxieties  attendant  upon 
the  production  of  two  operas — stifled  all  his  inclination  for 
composing.  His  visit  to  Rome,  with  its  many  social 
obligations,  was  also  unfavourable  to  creative  work. 

That  Tchaikovsky  continued  to  be  silent  even  after  his 
return  to  Kamenka  cannot,  however,  be  attributed  to  un- 
suitable surroundings  or  external  hindrances.  It  points 
rather  to  a  restless  and  unhappy  frame  of  mind. 

There  were  numerous  reasons  to  account  for  this  con- 
dition. 

In  the  first  place  he  was  touched  to  the  quick  by  the 
loss  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein.  In  spite  of  their  many  differ- 
ences he  had  loved  him  with  all  his  heart,  and  valued  him 
as  "  one  of  the  greatest  virtuosi  of  his  day."  He  had  also 
grown  to  regard  him  as  one  of  the  chief  props  of  his 
artistic  life.  Nicholas  Rubinstein  was  always  the  first,  and 
best,  interpreter  of  his  works  for  pianoforte  and  orchestra. 
Whenever  Tchaikovsky  wrote  a  symphonic  work,  he  already 
heard  it  in  imagination  as  it  would  sound  in  the  concert- 
room  in  Moscow,  and  knew  beforehand  that  under  Rubin- 
stein's direction  he  would  experience  no  disappointment. 
The  great  artist  had  the  gift  of  discovering  in  Tchaikov- 
sky's works  beauties  of  which  the  composer  himself  was 
hardly  conscious.  There  was  the  sonata,  for  instance, 
which  Tchaikovsky  "  did  not  recognise  "  when  he  heard  it 
played  by  N.  Rubinstein.  And  now  this  sure  and  subtle 
interpreter  of  all  his  new  works  was  gone  for  ever. 

Apart  from  personal  relations,  Rubinstein's  intimate 
connection  with  the  Conservatoire  had  its  influence  upon 
Tchaikovsky.  Although  the  latter  had  resigned  his  posi- 
tion there,  he  had  not  ceased  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
musical  life  of  Moscow.  After  his  friend's  death  Tchai- 
kovsky was  aware  that  everyone  was  waiting  for  him  to 
decide  whether  he  would  take  over  Rubinstein's  work.  To 
accept  this  duty  meant  to  abandon  his  career  as  a  com- 


410  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

poser.  There  was  no  mental  conflict,  because  he  never 
hesitated  for  a  moment  in  deciding  that  nothing  in  the 
world  would  make  him  give  up  his  creative  work.  At 
the  same  time  he  felt  so  keenly  the  helpless  position  of  the 
Conservatoire  that  he  could  not  avoid  some  self-reproach ; 
and  thus  the  calm  so  needful  for  composition  was  con- 
stantly disturbed. 

Another  reason  for  his  sadness  was  of  a  more  intimate 
character.  After  many  years  of  unclouded  happiness,  a 
time  of  severe  trial  had  come  to  the  numerous  Davidov 
family,  which  was  not  without  its  influence  upon  Tchaikov- 
sky. Kamenka,  formerly  his  refuge  from  all  the  tempests 
of  life,  was  no  longer  so  peaceful  a  harbour,  because  his 
ever-increasing  attachment  to  his  sister's  family  made  him 
more  sensible  of  their  joys  and  sorrows.  At  this  time  the 
shadows  prevailed,  for  Alexandra  Ilinichna  was  confined 
to  bed  by  a  long  and  painful  illness,  which  eventually 
ended  in  her  death. 

Finally,  Tchaikovsky  suffered  much  at  this  time  from 
the  loss  of  his  faithful  servant  Alexis  Safronov,  who  had 
been  in  his  service  from  1873  to  1880,  when  he  was  called 
upon  to  serve  his  time  in  the  army. 

Tchaikovsky  spent  most  of  September,  1881,  in  Moscow, 
in  the  society  of  his  brother  Anatol.  This  visit  was  com- 
paratively agreeable  to  him,  because  the  greater  part  of 
Moscow  society  had  not- yet  returned  from  their  summer 
holidays,  and  he  felt  free. 

He  left  Moscow  on  October  ist  (i3th). 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"KAMENKA,  October  %th (20^),  1881. 

"  I  inhabit  the  large  house  where  my  sister's  family  used 
to  live,  but  at  present  there  are  no  other  human  beings  but 
myself  and  the  woman  who  looks  after  me.  I  have  laid 
myself  out  to  complete  the  arrangements  of  Bortniansky's 
works  for  double  chorus  in  a  month.  Good  Lord,  how  I 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  411 

loathe  Bortniansky !  Not  himself,  poor  wretch,  but  his 
wishy-washy  music !  Yet  if  I  had  not  undertaken  this 
work  I  should  find  myself  in  a  bad  way  financially.  Were 
I  to  tell  you  how  much  money  I  got  through  in  Moscow, 
without  knowing  why  or  wherefore,  you  would  be  horrified 
and  give  me  a  good  scolding.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"  KAMENKA,  October  nth  (23^?),  1881. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  know  you  will  laugh  at  me  when  you 
read  this  letter.  .  .  .  There  is  a  young  man  here  of  eighteen 
or  nineteen  who  is  very  clever  and  capable,  but  dislikes 
his  present  occupation  because  his  domestic  circumstances 
are  miserable,  and  he  longs  for  a  wider  sphere  and  experi- 
ence of  life.  He  has  the  reputation  of  being  honest  and 
industrious,  and  knows  something  of  the  book-trade.  .  .  . 
Could  you  make  him  useful  in  your  publishing  house,  or  in 
the  country  ?  Dear  friend,  do  look  after  him  !  What  can  I 
do  for  him?  This  is  'my  fate'  over  again.  In  any  case 
I  shall  not  abandon  him,  for  I  am  sure  he  would  come  to 
grief  here. 

"  Laugh  if  you  like,  but  have  compassion  and  answer 
me."1 

To  Nadejda  von  Meek. 

"  KIEV,  November  gth  (2  is/),  1881. 

"  Because  I  am  deeply  interested  in  Church  music  just 
now,  I  go  to  the  churches  here  very  frequently,  especially 
to  the  '  Lavra.' 2  On  Sunday  the  bishop  celebrated  ser- 
vices in  the  monasteries  of  Michael  and  the  Brotherhood. 
The  singing  in  these  churches  is  celebrated,  but  I  thought 
it  very  poor,  and  pretentious,  with  a  repertory  of  common- 
place concert  pieces.  It  is  quite  different  in  the  '  Lavra/ 
where  they  sing  in  their  own  old  style,  following  the 
traditions  of  a  thousand  years,  without  notes  and  without 
any  attempts  at  concert- music.  Nevertheless  it  is  an 

1  P.  Jurgenson  took  this  young  man  into  his  business,  where  he  remained 
some  time.     Like  Tkachenko,  he  was  nervous  and  peculiar,  and  gave  Tchai- 
kovsky much  trouble  and  anxiety. 

2  Monasteries  of  the  first  rank. 


412  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

original  and  grand  style  of  sacred  singing.  The  public 
think  the  music  of  the  '  Lavra '  is  bad,  and  are  delighted 
with  the  sickly-sweet  singing  of  other  churches.  This 
vexes  and  enrages  me.  It  is  difficult  to  be  indifferent  to 
the  matter.  My  efforts  to  help  our  church  music  have 
been  misunderstood.  My  Liturgy  is  forbidden.  Two 
months  ago  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  in  Moscow  re- 
fused to  let  it  be  sung  at  the  memorial  service  for  Nicholas 
Rubinstein.  The  Archbishop  Ambrose  pronounced  it  to 
be  a  Catholic  service.  .  .  .  The  authorities  are  pig-headed 
enough  to  keep  every  ray  of  light  out  of  this  sphere  of 
darkness  and  ignorance. 

"  To-morrow  I  hope  to  leave  for  Rome,  where  I  expect 
to  meet  my  brother  Modeste." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ROME,  November  26th  (December  8M),  1881. 

"  The  day  before  yesterday  I  was  at  the  concert  in 
honour  of  Liszt's  seventieth  birthday.  The  programme 
consisted  exclusively  of  his  works.  The  performance  was 
worse  than  mediocre.  Liszt  himself  was  present.  It  was 
touching  to  witness  the  ovation  which  the  enthusiastic 
Italians  accorded  to  the  venerable  genius,  but  Liszt's  works 
leave  me  cold.  They  have  more  poetical  intention  than 
actual  creative  power,  more  colour  than  form — in  short,  in 
spite  of  being  externally  effective,  they  are  lacking  in  the 
deeper  qualities.  Liszt  is  just  the  opposite  of  Schumann, 
whose  vast  creative  force  is  not  in  harmony  with  his 
colourless  style  of  expression.  At  this  concert  an  Italian 
celebrity  played ;  Sgambati  is  a  very  good  pianist,  but 
exceedingly  cold." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ROME,  November  2ith  (December  gtfi),  1881. 

"  I  cannot  take  your  advice  to  publish  my  opera  with 
a  French  title-page.  Such  advances  to  foreign  nations  are 
repugnant  to  me.  Do  not  let  us  go  to  them,  let  them 
rather  come  to  us.  If  they  want  our  operas  then — not  the 
title-page  only,  but  the  full  text  can  be  translated,  as  in 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  413 

the  case  of  the  proposed  performance  at  Prague.  So  long 
as  an  opera  has  not  crossed  the  Russian  frontier,  it  is  not 
necessary — to  my  mind — that  it  should  be  translated  into 
the  language  of  those  who  take  no  interest  in  it." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  December  tfh  (i6th}>  1881. 

"Yesterday  I  received  sad  news  from  Kamenka.  In 
the  neighbourhood  lies  a  little  wood,  the  goal  of  my  daily 
walk.  In  the  heart  of  the  wood  lives  a  forester  with  a 
large  and  lovable  family.  I  never  saw  more  beautiful 
children.  I  was  particularly  devoted  to  a  little  girl  of  four, 
who  was  very  shy  at  first,  but  afterwards  grew  so  friendly 
that  she  would  caress  me  prettily,  and  chatter  delightful 
nonsense,  which  was  a  great  pleasure  to  me.  Now  my 
brother-in-law  writes  that  this  child  and  one  of  the  others 
have  died  of  diphtheria.  The  remaining  children  were 
removed  to  the  village  by  his  orders,  but,  he  adds, c  I  fear  it 
is  too  late.'  Poor  Russia !  Everything  there  is  so  de- 
pressing, and  then  this  terrible  scourge  which  carries  off 
children  by  the  thousand." 

The  violin  concerto  was  the  only  one  of  Tchaikovsky's 
works  which  received  its  first  performance  outside  Russia. 
This  exceptional  occurrence  took  place  in  Vienna.  The 
originality  and  difficulty  of  this  composition  prevented 
Leopold  Auer,  to  whom  it  was  originally  dedicated,  from 
appreciating  its  true  worth,  and  he  declined  to  produce  it 
in  St.  Petersburg.1  Two  years  passed  after  its  publication, 
and  still  no  one  ventured  to  play  it  in  public.  The  first  to 
recognise  its  importance,  and  to  conquer  its  difficulties,  was 
Adolf  Brodsky.  A  pupil  of  Hellmesberger's,  he  held  a 
post  at  the  Moscow  Conservatoire  for  a  time,  but  relin- 
quished it  in  the  seventies  in  order  to  tour  in  Europe.  For 
two  years  he  considered  the  concerto  without,  as  he 
himself  says,  being  able  to  summon  courage  to  learn  it. 

1  Some  years  later  Auer  changed  his  opinion  and  became  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  interpreters  of  this  work. 


414  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Finally,  he  threw  himself  into  the  work  with  fiery  energy, 
and  resolved  to  try  his  luck  with  it  in  Vienna.  Hans 
Richter  expressed  a  wish  to  make  acquaintance  with  the 
new  concerto,  and  finally  it  was  included  in  the  programme 
of  one  of  the  Philharmonic  Concerts,  December  4th,  1881. 
According  to  the  critics,  and  Brodsky's  own  account,  there 
was  a  noisy  demonstration  at  the  close  of  the  performance, 
in  which  energetic  applause  mingled  with  equally  forcible 
protest.  The  former  sentiment  prevailed,  and  Brodsky 
was  recalled  three  times.  From  this  it  is  evident  that  the 
ill-feeling  was  not  directed  against  the  executant,  but 
against  the  work.  The  Press  notices  were  very  hostile. 
Out  of  ten  criticisms,  two  only  spoke  quite  sympathetically 
of  the  concerto.  The  rest,  which  emanated  from  the  pens 
of  the  best-known  musical  critics,  were  extremely  slashing. 
Hanslick,  the  author  of  the  well-known  book,  On  the 
Beautiful  in  Music,  passed  the  following  judgment  upon 
this  work  : — 

"  Mozart's  youthful  work  (the  Divertimento]  would  have 
had  a  more  favourable  position  had  it  been  played  after, 
instead  of  before,  Tchaikovsky's  Violin  Concerto ;  a  drink 
of  cold  water  is  welcome  to  those  who  have  just  swallowed 
brandy.  The  violinist,  A.  Brodsky,  was  ill-advised  to 
make  his  first  appearance  before  the  Viennese  public  with 
this  work.  The  Russian  composer,  Tchaikovsky,  certainly 
possesses  no  commonplace  talent,  but  rather  one  which  is 
forced,  and  which,  labouring  after  genius,  produces  results 
which  are  tasteless  and  lacking  in  discrimination.  Such 
examples  as  we  have  heard  of  his  music  (with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  flowing  and  piquant  Quartet  in  D)  offer  a 
curious  combination  of  originality  and  crudeness,  of  happy 
ideas  and  wretched  affectations.  This  is  also  the  case  as 
regards  his  latest  long  and  pretentious  Violin  Concerto. 
For  a  time  it  proceeds  in  a  regular  fashion,  it  is  musical 
and  not  without  inspiration,  then  crudeness  gains  the 
upper  hand  and  reigns  to  the  end  of  the  first  movement. 
The  violin  is  no  longer  played,  but  rent  asunder,  beaten 
black  and  blue.  Whether  it  is  actually  possible  to  give 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  415 

clear  effect  to  these  hair-raising  difficulties  1  do  not  know, 
but  I  am  sure  Herr  Brodsky  in  trying  to  do  so  made  us 
suffer  martyrdom  as  well  as  himself.  The  Adagio,  with 
its  tender  Slavonic  sadness,  calmed  and  charmed  us  once 
more,  but  it  breaks  off  suddenly,  only  to  be  followed  by  a 
finale  which  plunges  us  into  the  brutal,  deplorable  merri- 
ment of  a  Russian  holiday  carousal.  We  see  savages, 
vulgar  faces,  hear  coarse  oaths  and  smell  fusel-oil.  Friedrich 
Fischer,  describing  lascivious  paintings,  once  said  there 
were  pictures  '  one  could  see  stink.'  Tchaikovsky's  Violin 
Concerto  brings  us  face  to  face  for  the  first  time  with  the 
revolting  idea :  May  there  not  also  be  musical  compositions 
which  we  can  hear  stink  ?  " 

Hanslick's  criticism  hurt  Tchaikovsky's  feelings  very 
deeply.  To  his  life's  end  he  never  forgot  it,  and  knew  it 
by  heart,  just  as  he  remembered  word  for  word  one  of 
Cui's  criticisms  dating  from  1866.  All  the  deeper  and 
more  intense  therefore  was  his  gratitude  to  Brodsky.  This 
sentiment  he  expressed  in  a  letter  to  the  artist,  and  in  the 
dedication  of  the  Concerto  he  replaced  Auer's  name  by 
that  of  Brodsky. 

While  Tchaikovsky  was  touched  by  Brodsky's  courage 
in  bringing  forward  the  Concerto,  he  was  unable  to  sup- 
press his  sense  of  injury  at  the  attitude  of  his  intimate 
friend  Kotek,  who  weakly  relinquished  his  original  in- 
tention of  introducing  the  work  in  St.  Petersburg.  Still 
more  did  he  resent  the  conduct  of  Auer,  who,  he  had 
reason  to  believe,  not  only  declined  to  produce  the  Concerto 
himself,  but  advised  Sauret  not  to  play  it  in  the  Russian 
capital. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

ROME,  1 88 1. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  writing  just  now  ?  You  will 
be  very  much  astonished.  Do  you  remember  how  you 
once  advised  me  to  compose  a  trio  for  pianoforte,  violin, 
and  violoncello,  and  my  reply,  in  which  I  frankly  told  you 
that  I  disliked  this  combination?  Suddenly,  in  spite  of 


416  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

this  antipathy,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  experiment  in  this 
form,  which  so  far  I  have  never  attempted.  The  beginning 
of  the  trio  is  finished.  Whether  I  shall  carry  it  through, 
whether  it  will  sound  well,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  should 
like  to  bring  it  to  a  happy  termination.  I  hope  you  will 
believe  me,  when  I  say  that  I  have  only  reconciled  myself 
to  the  combination  of  piano  and  strings  in  the  hope  of 
giving  you  pleasure  by  this  work.  I  will  not  conceal  from 
you  that  I  have  had  to  do  some  violence  to  my  feelings 
before  I  could  bring  myself  to  express  my  musical  ideas  in 
a  new  and  unaccustomed  form.  I  wish  to  conquer  all  diffi- 
culties, however ;  and  the  thought  of  pleasing  you  impels 
me  and  encourages  my  efforts." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"ROME,  December  22nd,  1881  (January  $rd>  1882). 

"  Things  are  well  with  me  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the 
word.  .  .  .  If  everything  were  well  in  Russia,  and  I  received 
good  news  from  home,  it  would  be  impossible  to  conceive 
a  better  mode  of  life.  But  unhappily  it  is  not  so.  Our 
dear,  but  pitiable,  country  is  passing  through  a  dark  hour. 
A  vague  sense  of  unrest  and  dissatisfaction  prevails 
throughout  the  land  ;  all  seem  to  be  walking  at  the 
edge  of  a  volcanic  crater,  which  may  break  forth  at  any 
moment.  .  .  . 

"According  to  my  ideas,  now  or  never  is  the  time  to 
turn  to  the  people  for  counsel  and  support ;  to  summon  us 
all  together  and  to  let  us  consider  in  common  such  ways 
and  means  as  may  strengthen  our  hands.  The  Zemsky 
Sobor — this  is  what  Russia  needs.  From  us  the  Tsar 
could  learn  the  truth  of  things ;  we  could  help  him  to 
suppress  rebellion  and  make  Russia  a  happy  and  united 
country.  Perhaps  I  am  a  poor  politician,  and  my  remarks 
are  very  naive  and  inconsequential,  but  whenever  I  think 
the  matter  over,  I  see  no  other  issue,  and  cannot  under- 
stand why  the  same  thought  does  not  occur  to  him,  in 
whose  hands  our  salvation  lies.  Katkov,  who  describes 
all  parliamentary  discussions  as  talkee-talkee,  and  hates 
the  words  popular  representation  and  constitution^  confuses 
the  idea  of  the  Zemsky  Sabor,  which  was  frequently  sum- 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  417 

moned  in  old  days  when  the  Tsar  stood  in  need  of  counsel, 
with  the  Parliaments  and  Chambers  of  Western  Europe. 
A  Zemsky  Sobor  is  probably  quite  opposed  to  a  constitu- 
tion in  the  European  sense ;  it  is  not  so  much  a  question 
of  giving  us  at  once  a  responsible  Ministry,  and  the  whole 
routine  of  English  parliamentary  procedure,  as  of  revealing 
the  true  state  of  things,  giving  the  Government  the  con- 
fidence of  the  people,  and  showing  us  some  indication  of 
where  and  how  we  are  being  led. 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  turning  a  letter  to  you  into 
a  political  dissertation.  Forgive  me,  dear  friend,  if  I  have 
bored  you  with  it  I  only  meant  to  tell  you  the  Italian 
sun  is  beautiful,  and  I  am  enjoying  the  glory  of  the  South  ; 
but  I  live  the  life  of  my  country,  and  cannot  be  completely 
at  rest  here  so  long  as  things  are  not  right  with  us.  Nor 
is  the  news  I  receive  from  my  family  in  Russia  very 
cheerful  just  now." 

To  P.Jurgenson. 

"  ROME,  January  tfh  (i6/>£),  1882. 

"  This  season  I  have  no  luck.  The  Maid  of  Orleans  will 
not  be  given  again  ;  Oniegin  ditto  ;  Auer  intrigues  against 
the  Violin  Concerto  ;  no  one  plays  the  Pianoforte  Concerto 
(the  second) ;  in  short,  things  are  bad.  But  what  makes 
me  furious,  and  hurts  and  mortifies  me  most,  is  the  fact 
that  the  Direction,  which  would  not  spend  a  penny  upon 
The  Maid  of  Orleans,  has  granted  30,000  roubles  for  the 
mounting  of  Rimksy-Korsakov's  Sniegourochka.  Is  it  not 
equally  unpleasant  to  you  to  feel  that  'our  subject'  has 
been  taken  from  us,  and  that  Lei  will  now  sing  new  music 
to  the  old  words?  It  is  as  though  someone  had  forcibly 
torn  away  a  piece  of  myself  and  offered  it  to  the  public  in 
a  new  and  brilliant  setting.  I  could  cry  with  mortifica- 
tion." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  ROME,  January  \$th  (2$th\  1882. 

"The  trio  is  finished.  .  .  .  Now  I  can  say  with  some 
conviction  that  the  work  is  not  bad.  But  I  am  afraid, 
having  written  all  my  life  for  the  orchestra,  and  only  taken 

2  E 


418  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

late  in  life  to  chamber  music,  I  may  have  failed  to  adapt 
the  instrumental  combinations  to  my  musical  thoughts. 
In  short,  I  fear  I  may  have  arranged  music  of  a  symphonic 
character  as  a  trio,  instead  of  writing  directly  for  my 
instruments.  I  have  tried  to  avoid  this,  but  I  am  not  sure 
whether  I  have  been  successful." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  January  i6th  (28^),  1882. 

"  I  have  just  read  the  pamphlet  you  sent  me  (La  Vtritt 
aux  nihilistes)  with  great  satisfaction,  because  it  is  written 
with  warmth,  and  is  full  of  sympathy  for  Russia  and  the 
Russians.  I  must  observe  that  it  is  of  no  avail  as  an 
argument  against  Nihilism.  The  author  speaks  a  language 
which  the  Nihilists  cannot  understand,  since  no  moral 
persuasion  could  change  a  tiger  into  a  lamb,  or  induce  a 
New  Zealand  cannibal  to  love  his  neighbour  in  a  true 
Christian  spirit.  A  Nihilist,  after  reading  the  pamphlet, 
would  probably  say :  '  Dear  sir,  we  know  already  from 
innumerable  newspapers,  pamphlets,  and  books,  all  you 
tell  us  as  to  the  uselessness  of  our  murders  and  dynamite 
explosions.  We  are  also  aware  that  Louis  XVI.  was  a 
good  king,  and  Alexander  II.  a  good  Tsar,  who  emanci- 
pated the  serfs.  Nevertheless  we  shall  remain  assassins  and 
dynamiters,  because  it  is  our  vocation  to  murder  and  blow 
up,  with  the  object  of  destroying  the  present  order  of 
things.' 

"  Have  you  read  the  last  volume  of  Taine's  work  upon 
the  Revolution  ?  No  one  has  so  admirably  characterised 
the  unreasoning  crowd  of  anarchists  and  extreme  revolu- 
tionists as  he  has  done.  Much  of  what  he  says  respecting 
the  French  in  1793,  of  the  degraded  band  of  anarchists 
who  perpetrated  the  most  unheard-of  crimes  before  the 
eyes  of  the  nation,  which  was  paralysed  with  astonishment, 
applies  equally  to  the  Nihilists.  .  .  .  The  attempt  to  con- 
vince the  Nihilists  is  useless.  They  must  be  exterminated  ; 
there  is  no  other  remedy  against  this  evil." 

At  the  end  of  January  Tchaikovsky  sent  the  Trio  to 
Moscow  with  a  request  that  it  might  be  tried  by  Taneiev, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  419 

Grjimali,  and  Fitzenhagen.     His  letter  to  Jurgenson  con- 
cludes as  follows : — 

"The  Trio  is  dedicated  to  Nicholas  G.  Rubinstein.  It 
has  a  somewhat  plaintive  and  funereal  colouring.  As  it  is 
dedicated  to  Rubinstein's  memory  it  must  appear  in  an 
edition  de  luxe.  I  beg  Taneiev  to  keep  fairly  accurately  to 
my  metronome  indications.  I  also  wish  him  to  be  the  first 
to  bring  out  the  Trio  next  season.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"ROME,  February  5/^(17^),  1882. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letters  always  bring  me  joy, 
comfort,  and  support.  God  knows  I  am  not  lying !  You 
are  the  one  regular  correspondent  through  whom  I  hear  all 
that  interests  me  in  Moscow — and  I  still  love  Moscow  with 
a  strange,  keen  affection.  I  say  '  strange/  because  in  spite 
of  my  love  for  it  I  cannot  live  there.  To  analyse  this 
psychological  problem  would  lead  me  too  far  afield." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 

"ROME,  February  ^th  (19^),  1882. 

"  Toly,  my  dearest,  I  have  just  received  your  letter  with 
the  details  of  your  engagement.  I  am  heartily  glad  you 
are  happy,  and  I  think  I  understand  all  you  are  feeling, 
although  I  never  experienced  it  myself.  There  is  a  certain 
kind  of  yearning  for  tenderness  and  consolation  that  only 
a  wife  can  satisfy.  Sometimes  I  am  overcome  by  an  insane 
craving  for  the  caress  of  a  woman's  touch.  Sometimes  I 
see  a  sympathetic  woman  in  whose  lap  I  could  lay  my 
head,  whose  hands  I  would  gladly  kiss.  When  you  are 
quite  calm  again  —  after  your  marriage — read  Anna 
Karenina,  which  I  have  read  lately  for  the  first  time  with 
an  enthusiasm  bordering  on  fanaticism  (sic).  What  you  are 
now  feeling  is  there  wonderfully  expressed  with  reference 
to  Levin's  marriage." 


420  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"NAPLES,  February  \\th  (23^),  1882. 

"Are  you  not  ashamed  of  trying  to  'justify'  yourself 
of  the  accusation  brought  against  you  by  my  protege 
Klimenko  ?  I  know  well  enough  that  you  cannot  be  un- 
just. I  know,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Klimenko  is  a  crazy 
fellow  who  loses  his  head  over  Nekrassov's  poetry  and 
vague  echoes  of  Nihilism.  Nevertheless  he  is  not  stupid, 
and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  discharge  him.  I  feel  unless  he 
can  make  himself  an  assured  livelihood  in  Moscow  he  will 
do  no  good  elsewhere.  I  beg  you  to  be  patient  a  little 
longer,  in  the  hope  he  will  come  to  himself,  and  see  where 
his  own  interests  lie." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"NAPLES,  February  i$th  (25^),  1882. 

"  What  a  blessing  to  feel  oneself  safe  from  visitors — to 
be  far  from  the  noise  of  large  hotels  and  the  bustle  of  the 
town  !  What  an  inexhaustible  source  of  enjoyment  to 
admire  this  incomparable  view,  which  stretches  in  all  its 
beauty  before  our  windows !  All  Naples,  Vesuvius,  Cas- 
tellammare,  Sorrento,  lie  before  us.  At  sunset  yesterday  it 
was  so  divinely  beautiful  that  I  shed  tears  of  gratitude  to 
God.  ...  I  feel  I  shall  not  do  much  work  in  Naples.  It 
is  clearly  evident  that  this  town  has  contributed  nothing 
to  art  or  learning.  To  create  a  book,  a  picture,  or  an 
opera,  it  is  necessary  to  become  self- concentrated  and 
oblivious  of  the  outer  world.  Would  that  be  possible 
in  Naples?  .  .  . 

"  Even  the  sun  has  spots,  therefore  it  is  not  surprising 
that  our  abode,  about  which  I  have  been  raving,  should 
gradually  reveal  certain  defects.  I  suffer  from  a  shameful 
weakness :  I  am  mortally  afraid  of  mice.  Imagine,  dear 
friend,  that  even  as  I  write  to  you,  a  whole  army  of  mice 
are  probably  conducting  their  manoeuvres  across  the  floor 
overhead.  If  a  solitary  one  of  their  hosts  strays  into  my 
room,  I  am  condemned  to  a  night  of  sleeplessness  and 
torture.  May  Heaven  protect  me ! " 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  421 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  landlord  of  this  mouse-infested 
residence — the  Villa  Postiglione — turned  out  "an  impudent 
thief,"  and  Tchaikovsky,  with  his  brother  Modeste,  returned 
to  an  hotel  in  the  town. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"NAPLES,  March  ^th  (19^),  1882. 

"  To-day  I  finished  my  Vespers.  ...  It  is  very  difficult 
to  work  in  Naples.  Not  only  do  its  beauties  distract  one, 
but  there  is  also  the  nuisance  of  the  organ  grinders.  These 
instruments  are  never  silent  for  an  instant,  and  sometimes 
drive  me  to  desperation.  Two  or  three  are  often  being 
played  at  the  same  time;  someone  will  also  be  singing,  and 
the  trumpets  of  the  Bersaglieri  in  the  neighbourhood  go  on 
unceasingly  from  8  a.m.  until  midday. 

"  In  my  leisure  hours  I  have  been  reading  a  very  interest- 
ing book,  published  recently,  upon  Bellini.  It  is  written  by 
his  friend,  the  octogenarian  Florimo.  I  have  always  been 
fond  of  Bellini.  As  a  child  I  often  cried  under  the  strong 
impression  made  upon  me  by  his  beautiful  melodies,  which 
are  impregnated  with  a  kind  of  melancholy.  I  have  re- 
mained faithful  to  his  music,  in  spite  of  its  many  faults : 
the  weak  endings  of  his  concerted  numbers,  the  tasteless 
accompaniments,  the  roughness  and  vulgarity  of  his  recita- 
tives. Florimo's  book  contains  not  only  Bellini's  life,  but 
also  his  somewhat  extensive  correspondence.  I  began  to 
read  with  great  pleasure  the  biography  of  this  composer, 
who  for  long  years  past  had  been  surrounded  in  my  imagi- 
nation with  an  aureole  of  poetical  feeling.  I  had  always 
thought  of  Bellini  as  a  childlike,  naive  being,  like  Mozart. 
Alas !  I  was  doomed  to  disillusion.  Bellini,  in  spite  of 
his  talent,  was  a  very  commonplace  man.  He  lived  in  an 
atmosphere  of  self-worship,  and  was  enchanted  with  every 
bar  of  his  own  music.  He  could  not  tolerate  the  least  con- 
tradiction, and  suspected  enemies,  intrigues,  and  envy  in 
all  directions ;  although  from  beginning  to  end  of  his  career 
success  never  left  him  for  a  single  day.  Judging  from  his 
letters,  he  loved  no  one,  and,  apart  his  own  interests,  nothing 
existed  for  him.  It  is  strange  that  the  author  of  the  book 
does  not  seem  to  have  observed  that  these  letters  show 


422  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Bellini  in  a  most  unfavourable  light,  otherwise  he  would 
surely  not  have  published  them.  Another  book  which  I 
am  enjoying  just  now  is  Melnikov's  On  the  Hills.  What 
an  astonishing  insight  into  Russian  life,  and  what  a  calm 
objective  attitude  the  author  assumes  to  the  numerous 
characters  he  has  drawn  in  this  novel !  Dissenters  of  various 
kinds  (Rasskolniki),  merchants,  moujiks,  aristocrats,  monks 
and  nuns — all  seem  actually  living  as  one  reads.  Each 
character  acts  and  speaks,  not  in  accordance  with  the 
author's  views  and  convictions,  but  just  as  they  would  do 
in  real  life.  In  our  day  it  is  rare  to  meet  with  a  book  so 
free  from  '  purpose.' 

10  p.m. 

"...  One  thing  spoils  all  my  walks  here — the  beggars, 
who  not  only  beg,  but  display  their  wounds  and  deformities, 
which  have  a  most  unpleasant  and  painful  effect  upon  me. 
But  to  sit  at  the  window  at  home,  to  gaze  upon  the  sea 
and  Mount  Vesuvius  in  the  early  morning,  or  at  sunset,  is 
such  heavenly  enjoyment  that  one  can  forgive  and  forget 
all  the  drawbacks  of  Naples." 

Tchaikovsky  spent  a  few  days  at  Sorrento  before  going 
to  Florence,  whence  he  returned  to  Moscow  about  the 
middle  of  April. 


XIV 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"KAMENKA,  May  loth  (22tid\  1882. 

"  Modi,  I  am  writing  at  night  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 
Do  not  be  alarmed — nothing  dreadful  has  happened. 
I  have  just  finished  Bleak  House,  and  shed  a  few  tears, 
first,  because  I  pity  Lady  Dedlock,  and  find  it  hard  to 
tear  myself  away  from  all  these  characters  with  whom  I 
have  been  living  for  two  months  (I  began  the  book  when 
I  left  Florence),  and  secondly,  from  gratitude  that  so  great 
a  writer  as  Dickens  ever  lived.  ...  I  want  to  suggest  to 
you  a  capital  subject  for  a  story.  But  I  am  tired,  so  I  will 
leave  it  until  to-morrow. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  423 

"  Subject  for  a  Story. 

11  The  tale  should  be  told  in  the  form  of  a  diary,  or  letters 
to  a  friend  in  England.  Miss  L.  comes  to  Russia.  Every- 
thing appears  to  her  strange  and  ridiculous.  The  family 
into  which  she  has  fallen  please  her — especially  the  children 
— but  she  cannot  understand  why  the  whole  foundation  of 
family  life  lacks  the  discipline,  the  sense  of  Christian  duty, 
and  the  good  bringing-up  which  prevail  in  English  homes. 
She  respects  this  family,  but  regards  them  as  belonging  to 
a  different  race,  and  the  gulf  between  herself  and  them 
seems  to  grow  wider.  She  draws  into  herself  and  remains 
there.  Weariness  and  oppression  possess  her.  The  sense 
of  duty,  and  the  need  of  working  for  her  family,  keep  her 
from  despair.  She  is  religious,  in  the  English  way,  and 
finds  the  Russian  Church,  with  its  ritual,  absurd  and  re- 
pugnant. Some  of  the  family  and  their  relations  with  her 
must  be  described  in  detail. 

"  A  new  footman  appears  upon  the  scene.  At  first  she 
does  not  notice  him  at  all.  One  day,  however,  she  becomes 
aware  that  he  has  looked  at  her  in  particular — and  love 
steals  into  her  heart.  At  first  she  does  not  understand 
what  has  come  over  her.  Why  does  she  sympathise  with 
him  when  he  is  working — others  have  to  work  too  ?  Why 
does  she  feel  so  ill  at  ease  when  he  waits  on  her  ?  Then 
the  footman  begins  to  make  love  to  the  laundrymaid.  In 
her  feeling  of  hatred  for  this  girl  she  realises  she  is  jealous, 
and  discovers  her  love.  She  gives  the  man  all  the  money 
she  has  saved  to  go  on  a  journey  for  his  health,  etc.  She 
begins  to  love  everything  Russian.  .  .  .  She  changes  her 
creed.  The  footman  is  dismissed  for  some  fault.  She 
struggles  with  herself— but  finally  goes  with  him.  One 
fine  day  he  says  to  her :  *  Go  to  the  devil  and  take  your 
ugly  face  with  you !  What  do  you  want  from  me  ? '  I 
really  do  not  know  how  it  all  ends.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  May  2§th  (June  loth),  1882. 
"...  You  ask  me  why  I  chose  the  subject  of  Mazeppa. 
About  a  year  ago  K.  Davidov  (Director  of  the  Petersburg 


424  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Conservatoire)  passed  on  this  libretto  to  me.  It  is  arranged 
by  Bourenin  from  Poushkin's  poem  Poltava.  At  that  time 
it  did  not  please  me  much,  and  although  I  tried  to  set  a 
few  scenes  to  music,  I  could  not  get  up  much  enthusiasm, 
so  put  it  aside.  For  a  whole  year  I  sought  in  vain  for 
some  other  book,  because  the  desire  to  compose  another 
opera  increased  steadily.  Then  one  day  I  took  up  the 
libretto  of  Mazeppa  once  more,  read  Poushkin's  poem 
again,  was  carried  away  by  some  of  the  scenes  and  verses 
— and  set  to  work  upon  the  scene  between  Maria  and 
Mazeppa,  which  is  taken  without  alteration  from  the 
original  text.  Although  I  have  not  experienced  as  yet 
any  of  the  profound  enjoyment  I  felt  in  composing 
Eugene  Oniegin ;  although  the  work  progresses  slowly  and 
I  am  not  much  drawn  to  the  characters — I  continue  to 
work  at  it  because  I  have  started,  and  I  believe  I  may  be 
successful.  As  regards  Charles  XII.  I  must  disappoint 
you,  dear  friend.  He  does  not  come  into  my  opera, 
because  he  only  played  an  unimportant  part  in  the  drama 
between  Mazeppa,  Maria,  and  Kochoubey.' 

The  first  symphony  concert  in  the  hall  of  the  Art  and 
Industrial  Exhibition  took  place  on  May  i8th  (3<Dth),  1882, 
under  the  direction  of  Anton  Rubinstein.  On  this  occasion 
Taneiev  played  Tchaikovsky's  Second  Pianoforte  Concerto 
for  the  first  time  in  public.  It  was  received  with  much 
applause,  but  it  was  difficult  to  determine  whether  this  was 
intended  for  the  composer,  or  the  interpreter. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"GRANKINO,  June  ^th  (2u/),  1882. 

"  The  quiet  and  freedom  of  this  place  delight  me.  This 
is  true  country  life !  The  walks  are  very  monotonous ; 
there  is  nothing  but  the  endless,  level  Steppe,  The  garden 
is  large,  and  will  be  beautiful,  but  at  present  it  is  new.  In 
the  evening  the  Steppe  is  wonderful,  and  the  air  so  ex- 
quisitely pure  ;  I  cannot  complain.  The  post  only  comes 
once  a  week,  and  there  are  no  newspapers.  One  lives  here 
in  complete  isolation  from  the  world,  and  that  has  a  great 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  425 

fascination  for  me.  Sometimes  I  feel — to  a  certain  extent 
— the  sense  of  perfect  contentment  I  used  always  to  ex- 
perience in  Brailov  and  Simaki.  O  God,  how  sad  it  is  to 
think  that  those  moments  of  inexpressible  happiness  will 
never  return  !  " l 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"GRANKINO,  July  $th  (17^),  1882. 

"  The  news  about  Skobeliev  only  reached  us  a  week 
after  the  sad  catastrophe.  It  is  long  since  any  death  has 
given  me  a  greater  shock  than  this.  In  view  of  the  lament- 
able lack  of  men  of  mark  in  Russia,  what  a  loss  is  this 
personality,  on  whom  so  many  hopes  depended ! " 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"KAMENKA,  fuly  26th  (August  >jth\  1882. 

"  My  sister  has  just  returned  from  Carlsbad,  having 
stopped  at  Prague  on  the  way  to  hear  my  Maid  of  Orleans, 
or  Panna  Orleanska,  as  she  is  called  there.  It  appears  the 
opera  was  given  in  the  barrack-like  summer  theatre,  and 
both  the  performance  and  staging  were  very  poor." 

This  first  appearance  of  one  of  Tchaikovsky's  operas 
upon  the  stage  of  a  West-European  theatre  passed  almost 
unnoticed.  The  work  had  a  succes  cTestime  and  soon  dis- 
appeared from  the  repertory  of  the  Prague  opera  house. 
The  Press  were  polite  to  the  well-known  symphonist 
Tchaikovsky,  and  considered  that  as  regarded  opera  he 
deserved  respect,  sympathy,  and  interest,  although  he  was 
not  entitled  to  be  called  a  dramatic  composer  "by  the 
grace  of  God." 

The  programme  of  the  sixth  symphony  concert  (August 
8th  (20th)  1882)  of  the  Art  and  Industrial  Exhibition 
was  made  up  entirely  from  the  works  of  Tchaikovsky, 
and  included  :  (i)  The  Tempest ;  (2)  Songs  from  Snie- 
gourochka ;  (3)  the  Violin  Concerto  (with  Brodsky  as 

1  Nadejda  von  Meek  had  sold  Brailov. 


426  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

soloist) ;  (4)  the  Italian  Capriccio ;  (5)  Songs ;  (6)  the 
Overture  "1812."  The  last -mentioned  work  was  now 
heard  for  the  first  time,  and  the  Violin  Concerto — although 
it  had  already  been  played  in  Vienna,  London,  and  New 
York — for  the  first  time  in  Russia.  The  success  of  these 
works,  although  considerable,  did  not  equal  that  which  has 
since  been  accorded  them.  Among  many  laudatory  criti- 
cisms, one  was  couched  in  an  entirely  opposite  spirit. 
Krouglikov  said  that  the  three  movements  of  the  Violin 
Concerto  were  so  "  somnolent  and  wearisome  that  one  felt 
no  desire  to  analyse  it  in  detail."  The  "1812"  Overture 
seemed  to  him  "  much  ado  about  nothing."  Finally,  he 
felt  himself  obliged  to  state  the  "lamentable  fact"  that 
Tchaikovsky  was  "played  out." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  August  i$th  (27^),  1882. 

"  DEAR  MODI, — I  found  your  letter  when  I  came  home 
an  hour  ago ;  but  I  have  only  just  read  it,  because  my 
mental  condition  was  such  that  I  had  to  collect  myself 
first.  What  produces  this  terrible  state  ? — I  do  not  under- 
stand it  myself.  .  .  .  Everything  has  tended  to  make 
to-day  go  pleasantly,  and  yet  I  am  so  depressed,  and  have 
suffered  so  intensely,  that  I  might  envy  any  beggar  in  the 
street.  It  all  lies  in  the  fact  that  life  is  impossible  for  me, 
except  in  the  country  or  abroad.  Why  this  is  so,  God 
knows — but  I  am  simply  on  the  verge  of  insanity. 

"This  undefinable,  horrible,  torturing  malady,  which 
declares  itself  in  the  fact  that  I  cannot  live  a  day,  or  an 
hour,  in  either  of  the  Russian  capitals  without  suffering, 
will  perhaps  be  explained  to  me  in  some  better  world.  .  .  . 
I  often  think  that  all  my  discontent  springs  from  my  own 
egoism,  because  1  cannot  sacrifice  myself  for  others,  even 
those  who  are  near  and  dear  to  me.  Then  comes  the  com- 
forting thought  that  I  should  not  be  suffering  martyrdom 
except  that  I  regard  it  as  a  kind  of  duty  to  come  here  now 
and  then,  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  it  gives  others.  The 
devil  knows !  I  only  know  this :  that  unattractive  as 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  427 

Kamenka  may  be,  I  long  for  my  corner  there,  as  one  longs 
for  some  inexpressible  happiness.  I  hope  to  go  there 
to-morrow," 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  KAMENKA,  August  2$rd  (September  4^),  1882. 

"  DEAR,  INCOMPARABLE  FRIEND, — How  lovely  it  is  here! 
How  freely  I  breathe  once  more !  How  delighted  I  am  to 
see  my  dear  room  again  !  How  good  to  live  once  more  as 
one  pleases,  not  as  others  order !  How  pleasant  to  work 
undisturbed,  to  read,  to  play,  to  walk,  to  be  oneself,  with- 
out having  to  play  a  different  part  a  thousand  times  a 
day  !  How  insincere,  how  senseless,  is  social  life ! " 


XV 

1882-1883 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  KAMENKA,  September  i^th  (26^),  1882. 

"  Never  has  any  important  work  given  me  such  trouble 
as  this  opera  (Mazeppd}.  Perhaps  it  is  the  decadence  of 
my  powers,  or  have  I  become  more  severe  in  self-judg- 
ment? When  I  remember  how  I  used  to  work,  without 
the  least  strain,  and  knowing  no  such  moments  of  doubt 
and  uncertainty,  I  seem  to  be  a  totally  different  man. 
Formerly  I  wrote  as  easily,  and  as  much  in  obedience  to 
the  law  of  nature,  as  a  fish  swims  in  water  or  a  bird  flies. 
Now  I  am  like  a  man  who  carries  a  precious,  but  heavy, 
burden,  and  who  must  bear  it  to  the  last  at  any  cost.  I, 
too,  shall  bear  mine  to  the  end,  but  sometimes  I  fear  my 
strength  is  broken  and  I  shall  be  forced  to  cry  halt ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  KAMENKA,  September  2Qth  (October  2nd),  1882. 

"  I  am  writing  on  a  true  autumnal  day.  Since  yesterday 
a  fine  rain  has  been  falling  like  dust,  the  wind  howls,  the 


428  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

green  things  have  been  frost-bitten  since  last  week — yet 
I  am  not  depressed.  On  the  contrary,  I  enjoy  it.  It  is 
only  in  this  weather  that  I  like  Kamenka  ;  when  it  is  fine, 
I  always  long  to  be  elsewhere. 

"  I  have  begun  the  instrumentation  of  the  opera.  The 
introduction,  which  depicts  Mazeppa  and  the  galloping 
horse,  will  sound  very  well  !  .  .  ." 


To  E.  Napravnik. 
"  KAMENKA,  September  2\st  (October  $rd\  1882. 

"  Kamenskaya  tells  me  that  in  case  of  the  revival  of 
The  Maid  of  Orleans  she  would  be  glad  to  undertake 
the  part  again,  if  I  would  make  the  cuts,  changes,  and 
transpositions  which  you  require.  Apart  from  the  fact 
that  it  is  very  desirable  this  opera  should  be  repeated,  and 
that  I  am  prepared  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  this  end, 
your  advice  alone  is  sufficient  to  make  me  undertake  all 
that  is  necessary  without  hesitation.  .  .  .  Yet  I  must 
tell  you  frankly,  nothing  is  more  unpleasant  than  the 
changing  of  modulations,  and  the  transposition  of  pieces 
which  one  is  accustomed  to  think  of  in  a  particular 
tonality,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  if  the  matter  could  be 
arranged  without  my  personal  concurrence.  At  the  same 
time,  I  repeat  that  I  am  willing  to  do  whatever  you 
advise." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"KAMENKA,  October  2vth  (November  u/),  1882. 

"  The  copy  of  the  Trio  which  you  sent  me  gave  me 
the  greatest  pleasure.  I  think  no  other  work  of  mine  has 
appeared  in  such  an  irreproachable  edition.  The  title- 
page  delighted  me  by  its  exemplary  simplicity." 

The  Trio  was  given  for  the  first  time  at  one  of  the 
quartet  evenings  of  the  Musical  Society  in  Moscow, 
October  i8th  (3Oth).  Judging  from  the  applause,  the 
public  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  work,  but  the 
critics  were  sparing  in  their  praise. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  429 

In  a  letter  to  the  composer  Taneiev  says  :< — 

"  I  have  studied  your  Trio  for  more  than  three  weeks, 
and  worked  at  it  six  hours  a  day.  I  ought  long  since  to 
have  written  to  you  about  this  glorious  work.  I  have 
never  had  greater  pleasure  in  studying  a  new  composi- 
tion. The  majority  of  the  musicians  here  are  enchanted 
with  the  Trio.  It  also  pleased  the  public.  Hubert  has 
received  a  number  of  letters  asking  that  it  may  be 
repeated." 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 
"  KAMENKA,  October  29/7*  (November  io//£),  1882. 

"  My  best  thanks  for  your  letter,  dear  Serge  Ivanovich. 
Your  approval  of  my  Trio  gives  me  very  great  pleasure. 
In  my  eyes  you  are  a  great  authority,  and  my  artistic 
vanity  is  as  much  flattered  by  your  praise,  as  it  is  in- 
sensible to  the  opinions  of  the  Press,  for  experience  has 
taught  me  to  regard  them  with  philosophical  indiffer- 
ence. .  .  . 

"  Mazeppa  creeps  along  tortoise-fashion,  although  I 
work  at  it  daily  for  several  hours.  I  cannot  understand 
why  I  am  so  changed  in  this  respect.  At  first  I  feared  it 
was  the  loss  of  power  that  comes  with  advancing  years, 
but  now  I  comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that  I  have 
grown  stricter  in  self-criticism  and  less  self-confident. 
This  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  it  now  takes  me  three  days 
to  orchestrate  a  thing  that  I  could  formerly  have  finished 
in  one." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  November  yd(i$th\  1882. 

"...  I  think — if  God  grants  me  a  long  life — I  shall 
never  again  compose  an  opera.  I  do  not  say,  with  you 
and  many  others,  that  opera  is  an  inferior  form  of  musical 
art.  On  the  contrary,  uniting  as  it  does  so  many  elements 
which  all  serve  the  same  end,  it  is  perhaps  the  richest  of 
musical  forms.  I  think,  however,  that  personally  I  am 
more  inclined  to  symphonic  music,  at  least  I  feel  more 
free  and  independent  when  I  have  not  to  submit  to  the 
requirements  and  conditions  of  the  stage." 


430  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  KAMENKA,  November  \&th  (22nd\  1882. 
"  Napravnik  sends  me  word  that  The  Maid  of  Orleans 
will  be  remounted  in  Prague,  and  Jurgenson  writes  that 
he  would  like  to  go  there  with  me.     I,  too,  would  like  to 
see  my  opera  performed  abroad.     Very  probably  we  shall 
go  direct  to  Prague  next  week,  and  afterwards   I  shall 
return    with    him    to    Moscow,   where    I    must    see   my 
brother.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  Moscow,  November  z$rd  (December  5^),  1882. 

"  I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Erdmannsdorfer,  who 
has  succeeded  Nicholas  Rubinstein  as  conductor  of  the 
Symphony  Concerts.  He  is  a  very  gifted  man,  and  has 
taken  the  hearts  of  the  musicians  and  the  public  by 
storm.  The  latter  is  so  fickle  :  it  received  Erdmannsdorfer 
with  such  enthusiasm,  one  would  think  it  valued  him  far 
more  highly  than  Rubinstein,  who  never  met  with  such 
warmth.  Altogether  Moscow  is  not  only  reconciled  to  the 
loss  of  Rubinstein,  but  seems  determined  to  forget  him. 

"  I  am  torn  to  pieces  as  usual,  so  that  I  already  feel  like 
a  martyr,  as  I  always  do  in  Moscow  or  Petersburg.  It 
has  gone  to  such  lengths  that  to-day  I  feel  quite  ill  with 
this  insane  existence,  and  I  am  thinking  of  taking  flight." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Moscow,  December  $th  (i^tti)  1882. 

"  To  the  many  fatigues  of  the  present  time,  one  more 
has  been  added  ;  every  day  I  have  to  sit  for  some  hours  to 
the  painter  Makovsky.  The  famous  art  collector,  P. 
Tretiakov,  commissioned  him  to  paint  my  portrait,  so 
that  I  could  not  very  well  refuse.  You  can  fancy  how 
wearisome  it  is  to  me  to  have  to  sit  for  hours,  when  I  find 
even  the  minutes  necessary  for  being  photographed  simply 
horrible.  Nevertheless  the  portrait  seems  very  successful.1 

1  This  portrait  was  one  of  the  least  successful  of  Makovsky's  efforts.  A 
far  better  portrait  of  the  composer  was  made  some  years  later  by  Kouznietsov. 
See  frontispiece. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  431 

I  forget  if  I  have  already  told  you  that  at  the  last  concert 
but  one  my  Suite  was  given  with  great  success.  Erd- 
mannsdorfer  proved  a  good  conductor,  although  I  think 
the  Moscow  Press  and  public  greatly  overrate  his  capabili- 
ties. .  .  .  My  work  is  not  yet  finished,  so  I  shall  hardly  be 
able  to  leave  before  next  week." 

Tchaikovsky  left  Moscow  on  December  28th  (January 
9th,  1883),  travelling  by  Berlin  to  Paris,  where  he  met  his 
brother  Modeste,  who  was  to  accompany  him  to  Italy. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BERLIN,  December  $ist,  1882  (January  i2th,  1883). 
"  I  broke  my  journey  to  rest  here.  Yesterday  Tristan 
and  Isolde  (which  I  had  never  seen)  was  being  given  at 
the  Opera,  so  I  decided  to  remain  another  day.  The  work 
does  not  give  me  any  pleasure,  although  I  am  glad  to 
have  heard  it,  for  it  has  done  much  to  strengthen  my 
previous  views  of  Wagner,  which — until  I  had  seen  all  his 
works  performed — I  felt  might  not  be  well  grounded. 
Briefly  summed  up,  this  is  my  opinion  :  in  spite  of  his 
great  creative  gifts,  in  spite  of  his  talents  as  a  poet,  and  his 
extensive  culture,  Wagner's  services  to  art — and  to  opera 
in  particular — have  only  been  of  a  negative  kind.  He 
has  proved  that  the  older  forms  of  opera  are  lacking  in 
all  logical  and  aesthetic  raison  d'etre.  But  if  we  may  no 
longer  write  opera  on  the  old  lines,  are  we  obliged  to  write 
as  Wagner  does?  I  reply,  Certainly  not.  To  compel 
people  to  listen  for  four  hours  at  a  stretch  to  an  endless 
symphony  which,  however  rich  in  orchestral  colour,  is 
wanting  in  clearness  and  directness  of  thought ;  to  keep 
singers  all  these  hours  singing  melodies  which  have  no 
independent  existence,  but  are  merely  notes  that  belong 
to  this  symphonic  music  (in  spite  of  lying  very  high 
these  notes  are  often  lost  in  the  thunder  of  the  orchestra), 
this  is  certainly  not  the  ideal  at  which  contemporary 
musicians  should  aim.  Wagner  has  transferred  the  centre 
of  gravity  from  the  stage  to  the  orchestra,  but  this  is  an 
obvious  absurdity,  therefore  his  famous  operatic  reform — 
— viewed  apart  from  its  negative  results — amounts  to 


432  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

nothing.  As  regards  the  dramatic  interest  of  his  operas, 
I  find  them  very  poor,  often  childishly  naive.  But  I  have 
never  been  quite  so  bored  as  with  Tristan  and  Isolde.  It 
is  an  endless  void,  without  movement,  without  life,  which 
cannot  hold  the  spectator,  or  awaken  in  him  any  true 
sympathy  for  the  characters  on  the  stage.  It  was  evident 
that  the  audience — even  though  Germans — were  bored, 
but  they  applauded  loudly  after  each  act.  How  can  this 
be  explained  ?  Perhaps  by  a  patriotic  sympathy  for  the 
composer,  who  actually  devoted  his  whole  life  to  singing 
the  praise  of  Germanism." 

To  A.  Merkling. 

"PARIS,  January  io//£  (22^),  1882. 

"  I  have  seen  a  few  interesting  theatrical  performances, 
among  others  Sardou's  Fedora,  in  which  Sarah  Bernhardt 
played  with  arch-genius,  and  would  have  made  the  most 
poignant  impression  upon  me  if  the  play — in  which  a 
clever  but  cold  Frenchman  censures  our  Russian  customs 
— were  not  so  full  of  lies.  I  have  finally  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Sarah  is  really  a  woman  of  genius.1  I  also 
enjoyed  Musset's  play,  On  ne  badine  pas  avec  Vamour. 
After  the  theatre  I  go  to  a  restaurant  and  drink  punch  (it 
is  bitterly  cold  in  Paris).  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  PARIS,  January  nth  (23/73?),  1883. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  the  Opera  Comique,  where  I 
heard  Le  Nozze  di  Figaro.  I  should  go  every  time  it  was 
given.  I  know  my  worship  of  Mozart  astonishes  you, 
dear  friend.  I,  too,  am  often  surprised  that  a  broken 
man,  sound  neither  in  mind  nor  spirit,  like  myself,  should 
still  be  able  to  enjoy  Mozart,  while  I  do  not  succumb  to 
the  depth  and  force  of  Beethoven,  to  the  glow  and  passion 
of  Schumann,  nor  the  brilliance  of  Meyerbeer,  Berlioz, 
and  Wagner.  Mozart  is  not  oppressive  or  agitating. 
He  captivates,  delights  and  comforts  me.  To  hear  his 

1  It  is  interesting  to  know  that  this  opinion  was  in  direct  opposition 
to  that  of  Tourgeniev,  who  made  some  harsh  criticisms  upon  the  celebrated 
French  actress.— R.  N. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  433 

music  is  to  feel  one  has  accomplished  some  good  action. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  precisely  wherein  this  good  influence 
lies,  but  undoubtedly  it  is  beneficial ;  the  longer  I  live  and 
the  better  I  know  him,  the  more  I  love  his  music. 

"You  ask  why  I  never  write  anything  for  the  harp. 
This  instrument  has  a  beautiful  timbre,  and  adds  greatly 
to  the  poetry  of  the  orchestra.  But  it  is  not  an  inde- 
pendent instrument,  because  it  has  no  melodic  quality,  and 
is  only  suitable  for  harmony.  True,  artists  like  Parish- 
Alvars  have  composed  operatic  fantasias  for  the  harp, 
in  which  there  are  melodies ;  but  this  is  rather  forced. 
Chords,  arpeggios — these  form  the  restricted  sphere  of  the 
harp,  consequently  it  is  only  useful  for  accompaniments." 

Before  Tchaikovsky  left  Moscow  he  had  been  approached 
by  Alexeiev,  the  president  of  the  local  branch  of  the 
Russian  Musical  Society,  with  regard  to  the  music  to  be 
given  at  the  Coronation  festivities,  to  take  place  in  the 
spring  of  1883.  A  chorus  of  7,500  voices,  selected  from 
all  the  educational  institutions  in  Moscow,  was  to  greet 
the  Emperor  and  Empress  with  the  popular  '  Slavsia/  from 
Glinka's  opera,  A  Life  for  the  Tsar.  The  arrangement  of 
this  chorus,  with  accompaniment  for  string  orchestra,  was 
confided  to  Tchaikovsky.  In  January  he  accomplished 
this  somewhat  uncongenial  task,  and  sent  it  to  Jurgenson 
with  the  following  remarks  : — 

"  There  are  only  a  few  bars  of  '  original  composition '  in 
the  work,  besides  the  third  verse  of  the  text,  so  if — as  you 
say — I  am  to  receive  a  fee  from  the  city  of  Moscow,  my 
account  stands  as  below  : — 

"  For  the  simplification  of  six- 
teen bars  of  choral  and 
instrumental  music,  to  be 
repeated  three  times  .  3  r. 

"  For  the  composition  of  eight 

connecting  bars          .     t.iV    4  r. 

"  For  four  additional  lines  to 
the  third  verse,  at  forty 
kopecks  per  line  .  .  I  r.  60  k. 

Total.         .     8  r.  6ok.  (i6/nj) 

2    F 


434  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"This  sum  I  present  to  the  city  of  Moscow.  Joking 
apart,  it  is  absurd  to  speak  of  payment  for  such  a  work, 
and,  to  me,  most  unpleasant.  These  things  should  be 
done  gratuitously,  or  not  at  all." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  February  $th  (i^th\  1883. 

"  I  have  not  read  Daudet's  L'Evangeliste,  although  I 
have  the  book.  I  cannot  conquer  a  certain  prejudice ;  it 
is  not  the  author's  fault,  but  all  these  sects,  the  Salvation 
Army — and  all  the  rest  of  them — are  antipathetic  to  me, 
and  since  in  this  volume  Daudet  (whom  I  like  as  much  as 
you  do)  deals  with  a  similar  subject,  I  have  no  wish  to 
read  it. 

"  As  regards  French  music,  I  will  make  the  following 
remarks  in  justification  of  my  views.  I  do  not  rave  about 
the  music  of  the  new  French  school  as  a  whole,  nor  about 
each  individual  composer,  so  much  as  I  admire  the  in- 
fluence of  the  novelty  and  freshness  which  are  so  clearly 
discernible  in  their  music.  What  pleases  me  is  their 
effort  to  be  eclectic,  their  sense  of  proportion,  their  readi- 
ness to  break  with  hard-and-fast  routine,  while  keeping 
within  the  limits  of  musical  grace.  Here  you  do  not  find 
that  ugliness  in  which  some  of  our  composers  indulge,  in 
the  mistaken  idea  that  originality  consists  in  treading 
under  foot  all  previous  traditions  of  beauty.  If  we  com- 
pare modern  French  music  with  what  is  being  composed 
in  Germany,  we  shall  see  that  German  music  is  in  a  state 
of  decadence,  and  that  apart  from  the  eternal  fluctuation 
between  Mendelssohn  and  Schumann,  or  Liszt  and  Wag- 
ner, nothing  is  being  done.  In  France,  on  the  contrary, 
we  hear  much  that  is  new  and  interesting,  much  that 
is  fresh  and  forceful.  OY  course,  Bizet  stands  head  and 
shoulders  above  the  rest,  but  there  are  also  Massenet, 
Delibes,  Guirand,  Lalo,  Godard,  Saint-Saens.  All  these 
are  men  of  talent,  who  cannot  be  compared  with  the  dry 
routinier  style  of  contemporary  Germans." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  435 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"PARIS,  February  6th  (i8M),  1883. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — To-day  I  received  a  telegram  from 
Bartsal,1  asking  if  my  Coronation  Cantata  is  ready,  and  for 
what  voices  it  is  written.  I  am  replying  that  I  have  never 
composed  such  a  Cantata.  Apparently  it  is  some  ab- 
surdity which  does  not  demand  serious  attention,  and 
yet  I  am  really  somewhat  agitated.  The  matter  stands  as 
follows.  Early  in  December  I  met  an  acquaintance  whom 
I  have  regarded  for  many  years  as  a  commonplace  fool. 
But  this  fool  was  suddenly  put  upon  the  Coronation  Com- 
mission. One  day,  after  lunch,  he  took  me  aside  and 
inquired :  '  I  trust  you  are  not  a  Nihilist  ? '  I  put  on  an 
air  of  surprise,  and  inquired  why  he  had  to  ask  such 
a  question.  *  Because  I  think  it  would  be  an  excellent 
thing  if  you  were  to  compose  something  suitable  for  the 
Coronation — something  in  a  festival  way — something 
patriotic — in  short,  write  something.  .  .  .'  I  replied  that 
I  should  be  very  pleased  to  compose  something,  but  I 
could  not  supply  my  own  text,  that  would  have  to  be 
commissioned  from  Maikov,  or  Polonsky,  then  I  should  be 
willing  to  write  the  music.  Our  conversation  ended  here. 
Afterwards  I  heard  that  this  man  was  saying  all  over 
Petersburg  that  he  had  commissioned  me  to  write  a 
Cantata.  I  had  forgotten  the  whole  story  until  the  tele- 
gram came  this  morning.  I  am  afraid  the  story  may  now 
be  grossly  exaggerated,  and  the  report  be  circulated  that 
I  refused  to  compose  such  a  work.  I  ^ive  you  leave  to 
use  all  possible  means  to  have  the  matter  put  in  the  true 
light,  and  so  to  exonerate  me." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  2$th  (March  %th),  1883. 

"Henry  VIII.,  by  Saint-Saens,  was  recently  given  at 
the  Grand  Opera.  I  did  not  go,  but,  according  to  the 
papers,  the  work  had  no  signal  success.  I  am  not  sur- 
prised, for  I  know  his  other  operas,  Samson  et  Dalila, 

1  A.  I.  Bartsal,  chief  manager  of  the  Imperial  Opera,  in  Moscow. 


436  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Etienne  Marcel^  and  La  Princesse  Jaune,  and  all  three 
have  strengthened  my  conviction,  that  Saint-Saens  will 
never  write  a  great  dramatic  work.  Next  week  I  will 
hear  the  opera,  and  tell  you  what  I  think  of  it. 

"  In  consequence  of  his  death,  Wagner  is  the  hero  of  the 
hour  with  the  Parisian  public.  At  all  three  Sunday  concerts 
(Pasdeloup,  Colonne  and  Lamoureux)  the  programmes 
have  been  devoted  to  his  works,  with  the  greatest  success. 
Curious  people  !  It  is  necessary  to  die  in  order  to  attract 
their  attention.  In  consequence  of  the  death  of  Flotow, 
there  was  a  vacancy  in  the  Academic  des  Beaux  Arts. 
Gounod  put  me  forward  as  one  of  the  five  candidates,  but 
I  did  not  attain  to  this  honour.  The  majority  of  votes 
went  to  the  Belgian  composer  Limnander." 


XVI 

At  this  time  two  unexpected  and  arduous  tasks  fell  to 
Tchaikovsky's  lot.  The  city  of  Moscow  commissioned 
him  to  write  a  march  for  a  fete,  to  be  given  in  honour  of 
the  Emperor  in  the  Sokolniky  Park,  and  the  Coronation 
Committee  sent  him  the  libretto  of  a  lengthy  cantata,  with 
a  request  that  the  music  might  be  ready  by  the  middle  of 
April.  These  works  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  undertake.  For 
the  march  he  declined  any  payment,  for  reasons  which  he 
revealed  to  Jurgenson,  under  strict  pledges  of  secrecy. 
When,  two  years  earlier,  his  financial  situation  had  been 
so  dark  that  he  had  undertaken  the  uncongenial  task  of 
editing  the  works  of  Bortniansky,  he  had,  unknown  to  all 
his  friends,  applied  for  assistance  to  the  Tsar.  After  the 
letter  was  written,  he  would  gladly  have  destroyed  it,  but 
his  servant  had  already  taken  it  to  the  post.  Some  days 
later  he  received  a  donation  of  3,000  roubles  (£300).  He 
resolved  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of  giving  some 
return  for  this  gift,  and  the  Coronation  March  was  the  out- 
come of  this  mingled  feeling  of  shame  and  gratitude. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  437 

His  projected  journey  to  Italy  was  abandoned,  and  he 
decided  to  remain  some  weeks  longer  in  Paris. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"PARIS,  March  tfh  (2ist\  1883. 

"  About  the  middle  of  August  I  received,  in  Moscow, 
the  manuscript  of  the  Vespers,  with  the  Censor's  corrections. 
You  then  requested  me  to  carry  out  these  corrections. 
I  altered  what  was  actually  essential.  As  regards  the  rest, 
I  sent  you  an  explanation  to  be  forwarded  to  the  Censor. 
.  .  .  What  has  become  of  it  ?  Either  you  have  lost  it,  or 
the  Censor  is  so  obstinate  and  dense  that  one  can  do 
nothing  with  him.  The  absurdity  is  that  I  have  not  com- 
posed music  to  the  words  of  the  Vesper  Service,  but  taken 
it  from  a  book  published  by  the  Synodal  Press.  I  have 
only  harmonised  the  melodies  as  they  stood  in  this  book. 
...  In  short,  I  have  improved  everything  that  was  capable 
of  improvement  I  will  not  endure  the  caprices  of  a 
drivelling  pedant.  He  can  teach  me  nothing,  and  the 
Synodal  book  is  more  important  than  he  is.  I  shall  have 
to  complain  about  him.  There  ...  he  has  put  me  out  for 
a  whole  day ! " 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"PARIS,  April  itfh  (26^),  1883. 

"  You  reproach  me  because  the  pieces  Rubinstein  played 
belong  to  Bessel. 1  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  must  say  in  self- 
justification  that  had  I  had  any  suspicion  twelve  years 
ago  that  it  would  be  the  least  deprivation  to  you  not  to 
possess  anything  of  mine,  I  would  on  no  account  have 
been  faithless  to  you.  ...  In  those  days  I  had  no  idea 
that  I  could  wound  your  feelings  by  going  to  Bessel.  Now 
I  would  give  anything  to  get  the  pieces  back  again.  A 
curious  man  Anton  Rubinstein  !  Why  could  he  not  pay 
some  attention  to  these  pieces  ten  years  ago  ?  Why  did 
he  never  play  a  note  of  my  music  then  ?  That  would 
indeed  have  been  a  service !  I  am  grateful  to  him,  even 
now,  but  it  is  a  very  different  matter." 

1  Six  pianoforte  pieces,  Op.  21. 


438  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  April  \tfh  (26th),  1883 

"  (Thursday  in  Passion  Week}. 

"  DEAR  MODI, — I  am  writing  in  a  cafe  in  the  Avenue 
Wagram.  This  afternoon  I  felt  a  sudden  desire  to  be — if 
not  actually  in  our  church  —  at  least  somewhere  in  its 
vicinity.  I  am  so  fond  of  the  service  for  to-day.  To  hold 
the  wax-taper  and  make  little  pellets  of  wax  after  each 
gospel ;  at  first,  to  feel  a  little  impatient  for  the  service  to 
come  to  an  end,  and  afterwards  to  feel  sorry  it  is  over ! 
But  I  arrived  too  late,  only  in  time  to  meet  the  people 
coming  out  and  hear  them  speak  Russian." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PARIS,  May  $rd (\$th\  1883. 

"  Loewenson's  article,  with  its  flattering  judgment  of  me, 
does  not  give  me  much  pleasure.  I  do  not  like  the  repeti- 
tion of  that  long-established  opinion  that  I  am  not  a 
dramatic  musician,  and  that  I  pander  to  the  public.  What 
does  it  mean  —  to  have  dramatic  capabilities  ?  Ap- 
parently Herr  Loewenson  is  a  Wagnerian,  and  believes 
Wagner  to  be  a  great  master  in  this  sphere.  I  consider 
him  just  the  reverse.  Wagner  has  genius,  but  he  certainly 
does  not  understand  the  art  of  writing  for  the  stage  with 
breadth  and  simplicity,  keeping  the  orchestra  within 
bounds,  so  that  it  does  not  reduce  the  singers  to  mere 
speaking  puppets.  As  to  his  assertion  that  I  aim  at  effects 
to  catch  the  taste  of  the  great  public,  I  can  plead  not 
guilty  with  a  clear  conscience.  I  have  always  written, 
and  always  shall  write,  with  feeling  and  sincerity,  never 
troubling  myself  as  to  what  the  public  would  think  of  my 
work.  At  the  moment  of  composing,  when  I  am  aglow 
with  emotion,  it  flashes  across  my  mind  that  all  who  will 
hear  the  music  will  experience  some  reflection  of  what  I 
am  feeling  myself.  Then  I  think  of  someone  whose  interest 
I  value — like  yourself,  for  instance — but  I  have  never 
deliberately  tried  to  lower  myself  to  the  vulgar  require- 
ments of  the  crowd.  If  opera  attracts  me  from  time  to 
time,  it  signifies  that  I  have  as  much  capacity  for  this  as 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  439 

for  any  other  form.  If  I  have  had  many  failures  in  this 
branch  of  music,  it  only  proves  that  I  am  a  long  way 
from  perfection,  and  make  the  same  mistakes  in  my  operas 
as  in  my  symphonic  and  chamber  music,  among  which 
there  are  many  unsuccessful  compositions.  If  I  live  a  few 
years  longer,  perhaps  I  may  see  my  Maid  of  Orleans 
suitably  interpreted,  or  my  Mazeppa  studied  and  staged  as 
it  should  be ;  and  then  possibly  people  may  cease  to  say 
that  I  am  incapable  of  writing  a  good  opera.  At  the 
same  time,  I  know  how  difficult  it  will  be  to  conquer  this 
prejudice  against  me  as  an  operatic  composer.  This  is 
carried  to  such  lengths  that  Herr  Loewenson,  who  knows 
nothing  whatever  of  my  new  work,  declares  it  will  be  a 
useless  sacrifice  to  the  Moloch  of  opera.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BERLIN,  May  \2th  (24^),  1883. 

"...  A  report  has  been  circulated  in  many  of  the 
Paris  papers  that  Rubinstein  had  refused  to  compose  a 
Coronation  Cantata  because  he  was  not  in  sympathy  with 
the  central  figure  of  the  festivities.  As  Rubinstein's 
children  are  being  educated  in  Russia,  and  this  might  be 
prejudicial  to  his  interests — for  even  the  most  baseless 
falsehood  always  leaves  some  trace  behind  it — I  sent  a 
brief  dementi  to  the  Gaulois  the  day  I  left  Paris.  I  cannot 
say  if  it  will  be  published.1 

"  To-day  Lohengrin  is  being  given.  I  consider  it 
Wagner's  best  work,  and  shall  probably  go  to  the  per- 
formance. To-morrow  I  leave  for  Petersburg." 

In  April,  1883,  Eugene  Oniegin  was  heard  for  the  first 
time  in  St.  Petersburg,  when  it  was  performed  by  the 
Amateur  Dramatic  and  Musical  Society  in  the  hall  of  the 
Nobles'  Club.  It  was  coolly  received,  and  the  performance 
made  so  little  impression  that  it  was  almost  ignored 
by  the  Press.  Soloviev,  alone,  wrote  an  article  of  some 
length  in  the  St.  Petersburg  Viedomosti,  in  which  he 
said  : — 

1  The  letter  appeared  on  May  23rd  (June  4th),  1883. 


440  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"Tchaikovsky's  opera  —  apart  from  the  libretto  and 
stage  effects — contains  much  that  is  musically  attractive. 
Had  the  composer  paid  more  attention  to  Poushkin's 
words  and  shown  greater  appreciation  of  their  beauty ; 
had  he  grasped  the  simplicity  and  naturalness  of  Poushkin's 
forms — the  opera  would  have  been  successful.  Having 
failed  in  these  requirements,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
public  received  the  work  coldly.  .  .  ." 

Nevertheless  the  opera  survived  several  performances. 
The  lack  of  success — apart  from  the  quality  of  the  music, 
which  never  at  any  time  aroused  noisy  demonstrations  of 
applause — must  be  attributed  to  the  performance,  which 
was  excellent  for  amateurs,  but  still  left  much  to  be 
desired  from  the  artistic  point  of  view. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PETERSBURG,  May  z^th  (June  $th\  1883. 

"  I  hear  the  Cantata  was  admirably  sung  and  won  the 
Emperor's  approval." 

To  N,  F.  von  Meek. 

11  PODOUSHKINO,  June  i$th  (27^),  1883. 

"  In  my  youth  I  often  felt  indignant  at  the  apparent 
injustice  with  which  Providence  dealt  out  happiness  and 
misfortune  to  mankind.  Gradually  I  have  come  to  the 
conviction  that  from  our  limited,  earthly  point  of  view 
we  cannot  possibly  comprehend  the  aims  and  ends 
towards  which  God  guides  us  on  our  way  through  life. 
Our  sufferings  and  deprivations  are  not  sent  blindly  and 
fortuitously ;  they  are  needful  for  our  good,  and  although 
the  good  may  seem  very  far  away,  some  day  we  shall 
realise  this.  Experience  has  taught  me  that  suffering  and 
bitterness  are  frequently  for  our  good,  even  in  this  life. 
But  after  this  life  perhaps  there  is  another,  and — although 
my  intellect  cannot  conceive  what  form  it  may  take — my 
heart  and  my  instinct,  which  revolt  from  death  in  the  sense 
of  complete  annihilation,  compel  me  to  believe  in  it. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  441 

Perhaps  we  may  then  understand  the  things  which  now 
appear  to  us  harsh  and  unjust.  Meanwhile,  we  can  only 
pray,  and  thank  God  when  He  sends  us  happiness,  and 
submit  when  misfortune  overtakes  us,  or  those  who  are 
near  and  dear  to  us.  I  thank  God  who  has  given  me 
this  conviction.  Without  it  life  would  be  a  grievous 
burden.  Did  I  not  know  that  you,  the  best  of  human 
beings,  and  above  all  deserving  of  happiness,  were  suffer- 
ing so  much,  not  through  an  insensate  blow  aimed  by 
a  blind  destiny,  but  for  some  divine  end  which  my  limited 
reason  cannot  discern — then,  indeed,  there  would  remain 
for  me  in  life  nothing  but  despair  and  loathing.  I  have 
learnt  not  to  murmur  against  God,  but  to  pray  to  Him  for 
all  who  are  dear  to  me." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  PoDOUSHKiNO,1  July  yd(\$tK))  1883. 
"  My  incapacity  for  measuring  time  correctly  is  really 
astonishing !  I  believed  I  should  find  leisure  this  summer 
for  everything — for  reading,  correspondence,  walks ;  and 
suddenly  I  realise  that  from  morning  to  night  I  am  tor- 
mented with  the  thought  that  I  have  not  got  through 
all  there  was  to  do.  .  .  .  Added  to  which,  instead  of 
resting  from  composition,  I  have  taken  it  into  my  head  to 
write  a  Suite.  Inspiration  will  not  come  ;  every  day 
I  begin  something  and  lose  heart.  Then,  instead  of 
waiting  for  inspiration,  I  begin  to  be  afraid  lest  I  am 
played  out,  with  the  result  that  I  am  thoroughly  dis- 
satisfied with  myself.  And  yet  the  conditions  of  life  are 
satisfactory :  wonderful  scenery  and  the  society  of  those  I 
love.  .  .  ." 

During  this  visit  to  Podoushkino,  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to 
Jurgenson  concerning  their  business  relations.  Actually, 
this  connection  remained  unbroken  to  the  end  of  the 
composer's  life,  but  at  this  moment  it  suffered  a  temporary 
strain.  Tchaikovsky  acknowledged  that  his  publisher 
had  often  been  most  generous  in  his  payments,  but  as 

1  From  Petersburg  Tchaikovsky  went  on  a  visit  to  his  brother  Anatol, 
who  had  taken  summer  quarters  at  Podoushkino,  near  Moscow. 


442  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

regards  his  new  opera  Mazeppa  he  felt  aggrieved  at 
the  small  remuneration  proposed  by  Jurgenson.  .  This 
work,  he  said,  ought,  logically  speaking,  to  be  worth 
ten  times  as  much  as  ten  songs,  or  ten  indifferent 
pianoforte  pieces.  He  valued  it  at  2,400  roubles  (£240). 
On  the  other  hand,  he  asked  no  fee  for  his  Coronation 
Cantata. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  PODOUSHKINO,  August  loth  (22tld\   1883. 

"  Yesterday  a  council  was  held  by  the  Opera  Direction 
to  consider  the  staging  of  Mazeppa.  Everyone  con- 
nected with  the  Opera  House  was  present.  I  was 
astonished  at  the  zeal — I  may  say  enthusiasm — which  they 
showed  for  my  opera.  Formerly  what  trouble  I  had  to 
get  an  opera  accepted  and  performed  !  Now,  without  any 
advances  on  my  part,  Petersburg  and  Moscow  contend 
for  my  work.  I  was  told  yesterday  that  the  direction 
at  St.  Petersburg  had  sent  the  scenic  artist  Bocharov 
to  Little  Russia,  in  order  to  study  on  the  spot  the  moon- 
light effect  in  the  last  act  of  Mazeppa.  I  cannot  under- 
stand the  reason  of  such  attentions  on  the  part  of  the 
theatrical  world — there  must  be  some  secret  cause  for 
it,  and  I  can  only  surmise  that  the  Emperor  himself  must 
have  expressed  a  wish  that  my  opera  should  be  given  as 
well  as  possible  in  both  capitals.1 

"  The  corrections  are  now  complete,  and  I  am  sending 
you  the  first  printed  copy.  Dear  friend,  now  I  must 
take  a  little  rest  from  composition,  and  lie  fallow  for  a 
time.  But  the  cacoethes  scribendi  possesses  me,  and  all  my 
leisure  hours  are  devoted  to  a  Suite.  I  hope  to  finish  it  in 
a  day  or  two,  and  set  to  work  upon  the  instrumentation  at 
Kamenka. 

"  My  health  is  better.  I  have  gone  through  such  a 
terrible  attack  of  nervous  headache,  I  thought  I  must  have 
died.  I  fell  asleep  so  worn  out,  I  had  not  even  strength 
to  undress.  When  I  awoke  I  was  well." 

1  This  agreeable  change  in  the  attitude  of  the  authorities  towards  Tchai- 
kovsky was  due  to  the  influence  of  I.  Vsievolojsky,  who  had  recently  been 
appointed  Director  of  the  Opera  House. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  443 

XVII 

1883-1884 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  VERBOVKA,  September  loth  (22nd\  1883. 

"  With  regard  to  my  opera,  you  have  picked  out  at 
first  sight  the  numbers  I  consider  the  best.  The  scene 
between  Mazeppa  and  Maria  will,  thanks  to  Poushkin's 
magnificent  verses,  produce  an  effect  even  off  the  stage. 
It  is  a  pity  you  will  not  be  able  to  see  a  performance  of 
Mazeppa.  Allow  me,  dear  friend,  to  point  out  other  parts 
of  the  opera  which  can  easily  be  studied  from  the  piano- 
forte score:  In  Act  I.  (i),  the  duet  between  Maria  and 
Andrew;  (2),  Mazeppa's  arioso.  Act  II.  (i),  the  prison 
scene;  (2),  Maria's  scene  with  her  mother.  Act  III.,  the 
last  duet." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"VERBOVKA,  September  \zth  (24^),  1883. 

"...  I  bought  Glazounov's  Quartet  in  Kiev,  and  was 
pleasantly  surprised.  In  spite  of  the  imitations  of  Korsa- 
kov,  in  spite  of  the  tiresome  way  he  has  of  contenting 
himself  with  the  endless  repetition  of  an  idea,  instead  of 
its  development,  in  spite  of  the  neglect  of  melody  and  the 
pursuit  of  all  kinds  of  harmonic  eccentricities — the  com- 
poser has  undeniable  talent.  The  form  is  so  perfect,  it 
astonishes  me,  and  I  suppose  his  teacher  helped  him  in 
this.  I  recommend  you  to  buy  the  Quartet  and  play  it 
for  four  hands.  I  have  also  Cui's  opera,  The  Prisoner  of 
the  Caucasus.  This  is  utterly  insignificant,  weak,  and 
childishly  naive.  It  is  most  remarkable  that  a  critic  who 
has  contended  throughout  his  days  against  routine,  should 
now,  in  the  evening  of  his  life,  write  a  work  so  shamefully 
conventional." 


444  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  VERBOVKA,  September  igth  (October  ist\  1883. 

"...  On  my  arrival  here  I  found  a  parcel  from  Tkat- 
chenko  at  Poltava.  It  contained  all  my  letters  to  him. 
As  on  a  former  occasion,  when  he  thought  of  committing 
suicide,  he  sent  me  back  two  of  my  letters,  I  understood 
at  once  that  he  wished  by  this  means  to  intimate  his 
immediate  intention  of  putting  an  end  to  his  existence. 
At  first  I  was  somewhat  agitated  ;  then  I  calmed  myself 
with  the  reflection  that  my  Tkatchenko  was  certainly  still 
in  this  world.  In  fact,  to-day  I  received  a  letter  from  him 
asking  for  money,  but  without  a  word  about  my  letters. 
His,  as  usual,  is  couched  in  a  scornful  tone.  He  is  a  man 
to  be  pitied,  but  not  at  all  sympathetic."  l 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
"VERBOVKA,  September  26th  (October  8tf),  1883. 

"  My  Suite  progresses  slowly ;  but  it  seems  likely  to  be 
successful.  I  am  almost  sure  the  Scherzo  (with  the  Har- 
monica) and  the  Andante  ('Children's  Dreams')  will  please. 
My  enthusiasm  for  Judith  has  made  way  for  a  passion 
for  Carmen.  I  have  also  been  playing  Rimsky-Korsakov's 
Night  in  May>  not  without  some  enjoyment." 

To  Frau  von  Meek. 
"VERBOVKA,  September 2%th  (October  10^),  1883. 

"  I  will  tell  you  frankly,  dear  friend,  that,  although  I 
gladly  hear  some  operas — and  even  compose  them  myself 
— your  somewhat  paradoxical  view  of  the  untenability 
of  operatic  music  pleases  me  all  the  same.  Leo  Tolstoi 
says  the  same  with  regard  to  opera,  and  strongly  advised 
me  to  give  up  the  pursuit  of  theatrical  success.  In  Peace 
and  War  he  makes  his  heroine  express  great  astonishment 
and  dissatisfaction  with  the  falseness  and  limitations  of 
operatic  action.  Anyone  who,  like  yourself,  does  not  live 
in  society  and  is  not  therefore  trammelled  by  its  conven- 

1  This  was  the  end  of  all  relations  between  Tchaikovsky  and  Tkatchenko. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  445 

tions,  or  who,  like  Tolstoi,  has  lived  for  years  in  a  village, 
and  only  been  occupied  with  domestic  events,  literature, 
and  educational  questions,  must  naturally  feel  more  in- 
tensely than  others  the  complete  falseness  of  Opera.  I, 
too,  when  I  am  writing  an  opera  feel  so  constrained  and 
fettered  that  I  often  think  I  will  never  compose  another. 
Nevertheless,  we  must  acknowledge  that  many  beautiful 
things  of  the  first  order  belong  to  the  sphere  of  dramatic 
music,  and  that  the  men  who  wrote  them  were  directly 
inspired  by  the  dramatic  ideas.  Were  there  no  such  thing 
as  opera,  there  would  be  no  Don  Juan,  no  Figaro,  no 
Russian  and  Lioudmilla.  Of  course,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  sane  mind,  it  is  senseless  for  people  on  the 
stage — which  should  reflect  reality — to  sing  instead  of 
speaking.  People  have  got  used  to  this  absurdity,  how- 
ever, and  when  I  hear  the  sextet  in  Don  Giovanni  I  never 
think  that  what  is  taking  place  before  me  is  subversive  of 
the  requirements  of  artistic  truth.  I  simply  enjoy  the 
music,  and  admire  the  astonishing  art  of  Mozart,  who 
knew  how  to  give  each  of  the  six  voices  its  own  special 
character,  and  has  outlined  each  personality  so  sharply 
that,  forgetful  of  the  lack  of  absolute  truth,  I  marvel  at  the 
depth  of  conditional  truth,  and  my  intellect  is  silenced. 

"  You  tell  me,  dear  friend,  that  in  my  Eugene  Oniegin 
the  musical  pattern  is  more  beautiful  than  the  canvas  on 
which  it  is  worked.  I  must  say,  however,  that  if  my  music 
to  Eugene  Oniegin  has  the  qualities  of  warmth  and  poetic 
feeling,  it  is  because  my  own  emotions  were  quickened  by 
the  beauty  of  the  subject.  I  think  it  is  altogether  unjust 
to  see  nothing  beautiful  in  Poushkin's  poem  but  the  versi- 
fication. Tatiana  is  not  merely  a  provincial  '  Miss/  who 
falls  in  love  with  a  dandy  from  the  capital.  She  is  a 
young  and  virginal  being,  untouched  as  yet  by  the  realities 
of  life,  a  creature  of  pure  feminine  beauty,  a  dreamy 
nature,  ever  seeking  some  vague  ideal,  and  striving  pas- 
sionately to  grasp  it.  So  long  as  she  finds  nothing  that 
resembles  an  ideal,  she  remains  unsatisfied  but  tranquil. 
It  needs  only  the  appearance  of  a  man  who — at  least 
externally — stands  out  from  the  commonplace  surround- 
ings in  which  she  lives,  and  at  once  she  imagines  her  ideal 
has  come,  and  in  her  passion  becomes  oblivious  of  self. 


446  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Poushkin  has  portrayed  the  power  of  this  virginal  love 
with  such  genius  that — even  in  my  childhood — it  touched 
me  to  the  quick.  If  the  fire  of  inspiration  really  burned 
within  me  when  I  composed  the  '  Letter  Scene/  it  was 
Poushkin  who  kindled  it ;  and  I  frankly  confess,  without 
false  modesty,  that  I  should  be  proud  and  happy  if  my 
music  reflected  only  a  tenth  part  of  the  beauty  contained 
in  the  poem.  In  the  '  Duel  Scene '  I  see  something  far 
more  significant  than  you  do.  Is  it  not  highly  dramatic 
and  touching  that  a  youth  so  brilliant  and  gifted  (as 
Lensky)  should  lose  his  life  because  he  has  come  into 
fatal  collision  with  a  false  code  of  mundane  '  honour '  ? 
Could  there  be  a  more  dramatic  situation  than  that  in 
which  that '  lion '  of  town-life  (Oniegin),  partly  from  sheer 
boredom,  partly  from  petty  annoyance,  but  without  pur- 
pose— led  by  a  fatal  chain  of  circumstances — shoots  a 
young  man  to  whom  he  is  really  attached  ?  All  this  is 
very  simple,  very  ordinary,  if  you  like,  but  poetry  and  the 
drama  do  not  exclude  matters  of  simple,  everyday  life." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"KAMENKA,  October  nth  (2yd),  1883. 

"  My  work  is  nearly  finished.  Consequently,  so  long  as  I 
have  no  fresh  composition  in  view,  I  can  quietly  enjoy  this 
glorious  autumn  weather. 

"My  Suite  has  five  movements:  (i)  Jeux  de  sons,  (2) 
Valse,  (3)  Scherzo  burlesque,  (4)  Reves  d'enfants,  (5) 
Danse  baroque." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

11  October  2$th  (November  6th),  1883. 

"  Every  time  I  finish  a  work  I  think  rapturously  of  a 
season  of  complete  idleness.  But  nothing  ever  comes 
of  it ;  scarcely  has  the  holiday  begun,  before  I  weary  of 
idleness  and  plan  a  new  work.  This,  in  turn,  takes  such 
a  hold  on  me  that  I  immediately  begin  again  to  rush 
through  it  with  unnecessary  haste.  It  seems  my  lot  to  be 
always  hurrying  to  finish  something.  I  know  this  is 
equally  bad  for  my  nerves  and  my  work,  but  I  cannot 
control  myself.  I  only  rest  when  I  am  on  a  journey; 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  447 

that  is  why  travelling  has  such  a  beneficial  effect  on  my 
health.  Probably  I  shall  never  settle  anywhere,  but  lead 
a  nomadic  existence  to  the  end  of  my  days.  Just  now  I 
am  composing  an  album  of  'Children's  Songs/  an  idea 
I  have  long  purposed  carrying  out.  It  is  very  pleasant 
work,  and  I  think  the  little  songs  will  have  a  great 
success." 

To  Frau  von  Meek. 

"KAMENKA,  November  \st  (13^),  1883. 

"  I  should  feel  quite  happy  and  contented  here,  were 
it  not  for  the  morbid,  restless  need  of  hurrying  on  my 
work,  which  tires  me  dreadfully,  without  being  in  the  least 
necessary.  .  .  . 

"  I  had  a  fancy  to  renew  my  study  of  English.  This 
would  be  harmless,  were  I  content  to  devote  my  leisure 
hours  quietly  to  the  work.  But  no :  here  again,  I  am 
devoured  by  impatience  to  master  enough  English  to  read 
Dickens  easily,  and  I  devote  so  many  hours  a  day  to  this 
occupation  that,  with  the  exception  of  breakfast,  dinner, 
and  the  necessary  walk,  I  literally  spend  every  minute 
in  hurrying  madly  to  the  end  of  something.  This  is 
certainly  a  disease.  Happily,  this  feverish  activity  will 
soon  come  to  an  end,  as  my  summons  to  the  rehearsals  in 
Moscow  will  shortly  be  due." 


XVIII 

Towards  the  end  of  November  Tchaikovsky  left  Ka- 
menka  for  Moscow,  where,  after  a  lapse  of  sixteen  years, 
his  First  Symphony  was  given  at  a  concert  of  the  Musical 
Society.  He  was  greatly  annoyed  to  find  that  the  pre- 
parations for  Mazeppa  were  proceeding  with  exasperating 
slowness.  "  It  is  always  the  way  with  a  State  theatre,"  he 
wrote  at  this  time  to  Nadejda  von  Meek.  "  Much  pro- 
mised, little  performed."  While  at  Moscow,  he  played  his 
new  Suite  to  some  of  the  leading  musicians,  who  highly 
approved  of  the  work. 


448  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

A  few  days  later  he  went  to  meet  Modeste  in  Peters- 
burg. He  left  the  dry  cold  of  a  beautiful  Russian  winter 
in  Moscow,  and  found  the  more  northern  capital  snowless, 
but  windy,  chilly,  and  "  so  dark  in  the  morning  that  even 
near  the  window  I  can  hardly  see  to  write." 

The  journeys  to  and  fro  involved  by  the  business  con- 
nected with  Mazeppa,  and  all  the  other  difficulties  he  had 
to  encounter  in  connection  with  it,  were  very  irksome  to 
Tchaikovsky.  At  this  time  he  vowed  never  to  write 
another  opera,  since  it  involved  the  sacrifice  of  so  much 
time  and  freedom. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  Moscow,  December  nth  (zyd\  1883. 

"  How  can  you  think  me  capable  of  taking  offence  at 
anything  you  may  say,  especially  with  regard  to  my 
music?  I  cannot  always  agree  with  you,  but  to  be  offended 
because  your  views  are  not  mine  would  be  impossible.  On 
the  contrary,  I  am  invariably  touched  by  the  warmth  with 
which  you  speak  of  my  compositions,  and  the  originality 
and  independence  of  your  judgment  pleased  me  from  the 
first.  For  instance,  I  am  glad  that,  in  spite  of  my  having 
composed  six  operas,  when  you  compare  Opera  with 
Symphony  or  Chamber  music,  you  do  not  hesitate  to 
speak  of  it  as  a  lower  form  of  art.  In  my  heart  I  have 
felt  the  same,  and  intend  henceforth  to  renounce  operatic 
music ;  although  you  must  acknowledge  opera  possesses 
the  advantage  of  touching  the  musical  feeling  of  the 
masses ;  whereas  symphony  appeals  only  to  a  smaller,  if 
more  select,  public.  .  .  ." 

Christmas  and  the  New  Year  found  Tchaikovsky  still  in 
Moscow,  awaiting  the  rehearsals  for  Mazeppa.  As  usual, 
when  circumstances  detained  him  for  any  length  of  time 
in  town,  he  suffered  under  the  social  gaieties  which  he  had 
not  the  strength  of  will  to  decline.  Laroche  was  staying 
in  the  same  hotel  as  Tchaikovsky,  and  was  in  a  hypochon- 
driacal  condition.  "  He  needs  a  nurse"  says  Tchaikovsky 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  449 

in  one  of  his  letters,  "and  I  have  undertaken  the  part, 
having  no  work  on  hand  just  now.  When  I  depart,  he 
will  relapse  into  the  same  apathetic  state." 

At  last,  on  January  I5th  (27th),  the  rehearsals  for  the 
opera  began,  and  with  them  a  period  of  feverish  excite- 
ment. The  preparations  for  Mazeppa  had  been  so  long 
postponed  that  they  now  coincided  with  the  staging  of  the 
work  in  Petersburg.  Tchaikovsky  declined  the  invitation 
to  be  present  at  the  rehearsals  there,  feeling  he  could 
safely  entrust  his  opera  to  the  experienced  supervision  of 
Napravnik. 

The  first  performance  of  Mazeppa  in  Moscow  took  place 
on  February  3rd  (iSth),  under  the  direction  of  H.  Altani. 
The  house  was  crowded  and  brilliant.  The  audience  was 
favourably  disposed  towards  the  composer,  and  showed  it 
by  unanimous  recalls  for  him  and  for  the  performers. 
Nevertheless,  Tchaikovsky  felt  instinctively  that  the 
ovations  were  accorded  to  him  personally,  and  to  such 
of  the  singers  who  were  favourites  with  the  public,  rather 
than  to  the  opera  itself.  The  ultimate  fate  of  Mazeppa, 
which  attracted  a  full  house  on  several  occasions,  but  only 
kept  its  place  in  the  repertory  for  a  couple  of  seasons, 
confirmed  this  impression.  The  failure  may  be  attributed 
in  some  degree  to  the  quality  of  the  performance.  Some 
of  the  singers  had  no  voices,  and  those  who  were  gifted  in 
this  respect  lacked  the  necessary  musical  and  histrionic 
training,  so  that  not  one  number  of  the  opera  was  rightly 
interpreted.  Only  the  chorus  was  irreproachable.  As 
regards  the  scenery  and  dresses,  no  opera  had  ever  been 
so  brilliantly  staged.  The  Moscow  critics  were  fairly  in- 
dulgent to  the  opera  and  to  its  composer.  To  Nadejda  von 
Meek,  Tchaikovsky  wrote :  "  The  opera  was  successful  in 
the  sense  that  the  singers  and  myself  received  ovations.  .  .  . 
I  cannot  attempt  to  tell  you  what  I  went  through  that 
day.  I  was  nearly  crazed  with  excitement." 


2  G 


450  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  E.  Pavlovskaya.1 

"Moscow,  February  tfh  (i6th\  1884. 

"DEAR  AND  SUPERB  EMILIE  KARLOVNA,— I  thank 
you  heartily,  incomparable  Maria,  for  your  indescribably 
beautiful  performance  of  this  part.  God  give  you  happi- 
ness and  success.  I  shall  never  forget  the  deep  impression 
made  upon  me  by  your  splendid  talent." 

After  informing  a  few  friends  of  his  intended  journey — 
amongst  them  Erdmannsdorfer — Tchaikovsky  left  Moscow 
just  at  the  moment  when  the  public  had  gathered  in  the 
Concert  Hall  to  hear  his  new  Suite. 

The  Suite  (No.  2  in  C)  had  such  a  genuine  and  undis- 
puted success  under  Erdmannsdorfer's  excellent  direction 
on  February  4th  (i6th),  that  it  had  to  be  repeated  by 
general  request  at  the  next  symphony  concert,  a  week 
later.  The  Press  was  unanimous  in  its  enthusiasm,  and 
even  the  severe  Krouglikov  was  moved  to  lavish  and  un- 
conditional praise. 

The  Petersburg  performance  of  Mazeppa,  under  Naprav- 
nik,  took  place  on  February  7th  (iQth).  The  absence  of 
the  composer  naturally  lessened  its  immediate  success, 
but  the  impression  was  essentially  the  same  as  in  Moscow: 
the  opera  obtained  a  mere  succes  d'estime.  As  regards 
acting,  the  performance  of  the  chief  parts  (Mazeppa  and 
Maria)  was  far  less  effective  than  at  its  original  production. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  staging  and  costumes  excelled  in 
historical  fidelity  and  brillancy  even  those  of  the  Moscow 
performance.  Comparing  the  reception  of  Mazeppa  in  the 
two  capitals,  we  must  award  the  palm  to  the  Petersburg 
critics  for  the  unanimity  with  which  they  "  damned  "  the 
work. 

1  The  singer  who  created  the  part  of  Maria  in  the  Moscow  performance 
of  Mazepfa. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  451 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"BERLIN,  February  ^th  (19^),  1884. 

"Early  this  morning  I  received  a  telegram  from 
Modeste,  who  informs  me  that  the  performance  of  Ma- 
zeppa  in  Petersburg  yesterday  was  a  complete  success,  and 
that  the  Emperor  remained  to  the  end  and  was  much 
pleased.1  To  morrow  I  continue  my  journey  to  Paris  and 
from  thence  to  Italy,  where  I  might  possibly  join  Kolya 
and  Anna,2  unless  I  should  disturb  their  tete-a-tete.  I 
dread  being  alone.  .  .  ." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
"PARIS,  February  iS/ti  (March  \st\  1884. 

"  Modi,  I  can  well  imagine  how  difficult  it  must  have 
been  for  you  to  lie  to  me  as  to  the  'grand  succes*  of 
Mazeppa  in  Petersburg.  But  you  did  well  to  tell  a  lie,  for 
the  truth  would  have  been  too  great  a  blow,  had  I  not 
been  prepared  for  it  by  various  indications.  Only  yester- 
day did  I  learn  the  worst  in  a  letter  from  Jurgenson,  who 
not  only  had  the  cruelty  to  blurt  out  the  plain  truth,  but 
also  to  reproach  me  for  not  having  gone  to  Petersburg. 
It  came  as  a  thunderbolt  upon  me,  and  all  day  I  suffered, 
as  though  some  dreadful  catastrophe  had  taken  place.  Of 
course,  this  is  exaggeration,  but  at  my  age,  when  one  has 
nothing  more  to  hope  in  the  future,  a  slight  failure  assumes 
the  dimensions  of  a  shameful  fiasco.  Were  I  different, 
could  I  have  forced  myself  to  go  to  Petersburg,  no  doubt 
I  should  have  returned  crowned  with  laurel  wreaths.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"PARIS,  February  rtth  (March  ist),  1884. 

"  It  is  an  old  truth  that  no  pne  can  hurt  so  cruelly  as  a 
dear  friend.  Your  reproach  is  very  bitter.  Do  you  not 
understand  that  I  know  better  than  anyone  else  how 

1  On  account  of  Tchaikovsky's  nervous  condition  the  account  of  the  success 
of  Mazeppa  was  slightly  overdrawn. 

2  Nicholas  and  Anna  von  Meek,  nte  Davidov  (Tchaikovsky's  niece),  who 
were  on  their  wedding  tour. 


452  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

much  I  lose,  and  how  greatly  I  injure  my  own  success,  by 
my  unhappy  temperament?  As  a  card-sharper,  who  has 
cheated  all  his  life,  lifts  his  hand  against  the  man  who  has 
made  him  realise  what  he  is,  so  nothing  makes  me  so 
angry  as  the  phrase :  '  You  have  only  yourself  to  blame.' 
It  is  true  in  this  case ;  but  can  I  help  being  what  I  am  ? 
The  comparative  failure  of  Mazeppa  in  Petersburg,  of 
which  your  letter  informed  me,  has  wounded  me  deeply — 
very  deeply.  I  am  in  a  mood  of  darkest  despair." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  2*]th  (March  ioth)t  1884. 

"  You  have  justly  observed  that  the  Parisians  have 
become  Wagnerites.  But  in  their  enthusiasm  for  Wagner, 
which  is  carried  so  far  that  they  neglect  even  Berlioz — 
who,  a  few  years  ago,  was  the  idol  of  the  Paris  public 
— there  is  something  insincere,  artificial,  and  without  any 
real  foundation.  I  cannot  believe  that  Tristan  and  Isolde, 
which  is  so  intolerably  wearisome  on  the  stage,  could  ever 
charm  the  Parisians.  ...  It  would  not  surprise  me  that 
such  excellent  operas  as  Lohengrin,  Tannhauser,  and  the 
Flying  Dutchman  should  remain  in  the  repertory.  These, 
originating  from  a  composer  of  the  first  rank,  must  sooner 
or  later  become  of  general  interest.  The  operas  of  the 
later  period,  on  the  contrary,  are  false  in  principle ;  they 
renounce  artistic  simplicity  and  veracity,  and  can  only  live 
in  Germany,  where  Wagner's  name  has  become  the  watch- 
word of  German  patriotism.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PARIS,  February  2<)th  (March  \2th\  1884. 

"...  Napravnik  writes  that  the  Emperor  was  much 
astonished  at  my  absence  from  the  first  performance  of 
Mazeppa,  and  that  he  showed  great  interest  in  my  music ; 
he  has  also  commanded  a  performance  of  Eugene  Oniegzn, 
his  favourite  opera.  Napravnik  thinks  I  must  not  fail 
to  go  to  Petersburg  to  be  presented  to  the  Emperor. 
I  feel  if  I  neglect  to  do  this  I  shall  be  worried  by  the 
thought  that  the  Emperor  might  consider  me  ungrateful, 
and  so  I  have  decided  to  start  at  once.  It  is  very  hard, 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  453 

and  I  have  to  make  a  great  effort  to  give  up  the  chance  of 
a  holiday  in  the  country  and  begin  again  with  fresh 
excitements.  But  it  has  to  be  done." 


XIX 

The  official  command  to  appear  before  their  Imperial 
Majesties  was  due  to  the  fact  that  on  February  2$rd 
(March  6th),  1884,  the  order  of  St.  Vladimir  of  the  Fourth 
Class  had  been  conferred  upon  Tchaikovsky.  The  pre- 
sentation took  place  on  March  7th  (iQth),  at  Gatchina. 
Tchaikovsky  was  so  agitated  beforehand  that  he  had 
to  take  several,  strong  doses  of  bromide  in  order  to  regain 
his  self-possession.  The  last  dose  was  actually  swallowed 
on  the  threshold  of  the  room  where  the  Empress  was 
awaiting  him,  in  agony  lest  he  should  lose  consciousness 
from  sheer  nervous  breakdown. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 
"PETERSBURG,  March  loth  (22^^),  1884. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  brief  account  of  what  took  place. 
Last  Saturday  I  was  taken  with  a  severe  chill.  By 
morning  I  felt  better,  but  I  was  terribly  nervous  at  the 
idea  of  being  presented  to  the  Emperor  and  Empress. 
On  Monday  at  ten  o'clock  I  went  to  Gatchina.  I  had 
only  permission  to  appear  before  His  Majesty,  but  Prince 
Vladimir  Obolensky  had  also  arranged  an  audience  with 
the  Empress,  who  had  frequently  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
me.  I  was  first  presented  to  the  Emperor  and  then  to 
the  Empress.  Both  were  most  friendly  and  kind.  I  think 
it  is  only  necessary  to  look  once  into  the  Emperor's  eyes, 
in  order  to  remain  for  ever  his  most  loyal  adherent,  for  it 
is  difficult  to  express  in  words  all  the  charm  and  sympathy 
of  his  manner.  She  is  also  bewitching.  Afterwards  I 
had  to  visit  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Nicholaevich, 
and  yesterday  I  sat  with  him  in  the  Imperial  box  during 
the  whole  of  the  rehearsal  at  the  Conservatoire." 


454  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PETERSBURG,  March  \$th  (25^),  1884. 

"  What  a  madman  I  am !  How  easily  I  am  affected 
by  the  least  shadow  of  ill-luck !  Now  I  am  ashamed  of 
the  depression  which  came  over  me  in  Paris,  simply 
because  I  gathered  from  the  newspapers  that  the  per- 
formance of  Mazeppa  in  Petersburg  had  not  really  had  the 
success  I  anticipated !  Now  I  see  that  in  spite  of  the 
ill-feeling  of  many  local  musicians,  in  spite  of  the  wretched 
performance,  the  opera  really  pleased,  and  there  is  no 
question  of  reproach,  as  I  feared  while  I  was  so  far  away. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  the  critics,  who  unanimously  strove 
to  drag  my  poor  opera  through  the  mire,  were  not  express- 
ing the  universal  opinion,  and  that  many  people  here  are 
well  disposed  towards  me.  What  pleases  me  most  is  the 
fact  that  the  Emperor  himself  stands  at  the  head  of  this 
friendly  section.  It  turns  out  that  I  have  no  right  to 
complain  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  ought  rather  to  thank  God, 
who  has  shown  me  such  favour. 

"  Have  you  seen  Count  Leo  Tolstoi's  Confessions,  which 
were  to  have  come  out  recently  in  the  Russkaya  Myssl 
('  Russian  Thought '),  but  were  withdrawn  by  order  of  the 
Censor  ?  They  have  been  privately  circulated  in  manu- 
script, and  I  have  just  succeeded  in  reading  them.  They 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  me,  because  I,  too, 
know  the  torments  of  doubt  and  the  tragic  perplexity 
which  Tolstoi  has  experienced  and  described  so  wonder- 
fully in  the  Confessions.  But  enlightenment  came  to  me 
earlier  than  Tolstoi ;  perhaps  because  my  brain  is  more 
simply  organised  than  his ;  and  perhaps  it  has  been  due 
to  the  continual  necessity  of  work  that  I  have  suffered 
less  than  Tolstoi.  Every  day,  every  hour,  I  thank  God 
for  having  given  me  this  faith  in  Him.  What  would  have 
become  of  me,  with  my  cowardice,  my  capacity  for  de- 
pression, and — at  the  least  failure  of  courage — my  desire 
for  non-existence,  unless  I  had  been  able  to  believe  in  God 
and  submit  to  His  will  ?  " 

About  the  end  of  the  seventies  Tchaikovsky  kept  an 
accurate  diary.  Ten  years  later  he  relaxed  the  habit,  and 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  455 

only  made  entries  in  his  day-book  while  abroad,  or  on 
important  occasions.  Two  years  before  his  death  the 
composer  burnt  most  of  these  volumes,  including  all  those 
which  covered  the  years  between  his  journeys  abroad  in 
1873  an<3  April,  1884. 
The  following  are  a  few  entries  from  the  later  diaries : — 

"April  \$th  (25^),  1884. 

"...  After  tea  I  went  to  Leo's,1  who  soon  went  out,  while 
I  remained  to  strum  and  think  of  something  new.  I  hit 
upon  an  idea  for  a  pianoforte  Concerto  [afterwards  the 
Fantasia  for  pianoforte,  op.  56],  but  it  is  poor  and  not  new. 
.  .  .  Played  Massenet's  Herodiade.  .  .  read  some  of  Otto 
Jahn's  Life  of  Mozart:' 

On  April  i6th  (28th)  Tchaikovsky  began  his  third 
orchestral  Suite,  and  we  can  follow  the  evolution  of  this 
work,  as  noted  from  day  to  day  in  his  diary. 

"April  i6th  (28^),  1884. 

"  In  the  forest  and  indoors  I  have  been  trying  to  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  new  symphony  .  .  .  but  I  am  not  at 
all  satisfied.  .  .  .  Walked  in  the  garden  and  found  the 
germ,  not  of  a  symphony,  but  of  a  future  Suite." 

" April  i^th  (zgth). 
"...     Jotted  down  a  few  ideas." 

"  April  igth  (May  ist). 

"  Annoyed  with  my  failures.  Very  dissatisfied  because 
everything  that  comes  into  my  head  is  so  commonplace. 
Am  I  played  out  ?  " 

April ^  2 4//fc  (May  6th\ 

u  I  shall  soon  be  forty-four.  How  much  I  have  been 
through,  and — without  false  modesty — how  little  I  have 
accomplished  !  In  my  actual  vocation  I  must  say — hand 
on  heart — I  have  achieved  nothing  perfect,  nothing  which 
can  serve  as  a  model.  I  am  still  seeking,  vacillating. 

1  His  brother-in-law,  Leo  Davidov. 


456  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

And  in  other  matters  ?  I  read  nothing,  I  know  nothing. 
.  .  .  The  period  of  quiet,  undisturbed  existence  is  over  for 
me.  There  remain  agitation,  conflict,  much  that  I,  such  as 
I  am,  find  hard  to  endure.  No,  the  time  has  come  to  live 
by  oneself  and  in  one's  own  way  /" 

"April  z6th  (May  8M). 

"This  morning   I  worked  with  all  my  powers  at  the 
Scherzo  of  the  Suite.     Shall  work  again  after  tea." 


"  April  30//&  (May  12^),  1884. 

"  Worked  all  day  at  the  Valse  (Suite),  but  without  any 
conviction  of  success." 

Extracts  from  a  Letter  to  Anna  Merkling. 

"  KAMENKA,  April  27 th  (May  9^),  1884. 

"  Many  thanks,  dear  Anna,  for  your  thought  of  me  on 
the  25th  (May  7th).  .  .  .  Without  bitterness,  I  receive  con- 
gratulations upon  the  fact  that  I  am  a  year  older.  I  have 
no  wish  to  die,  and  I  desire  to  attain  a  ripe  old  age ;  but 
I  would  not  willingly  have  my  youth  back  and  go  through 
life  again.  Once  is  enough !  The  past,  of  which  you 
speak  with  regret,  I  too  regret  it,  for  no  one  likes  better  to 
be  lost  in  memories  of  old  days,  no  one  feels  more  keenly 
the  emptiness  and  brevity  of  life — but  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
young  again.  ...  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the  sum  total  of 
good  which  I  enjoy  at  present  is  far  greater  than  that 
which  stood  to  my  credit  in  youth :  therefore  I  do  not  in 
the  least  regret  my  forty-and-four  years.  Nor  sixty,  nor 
seventy,  provided  I  am  still  sound  mentally  and  physically  ! 
At  the  same  time  one  ought  not  to  fear  death.  In  this 
respect  I  cannot  boast.  I  am  not  sufficiently  penetrated 
by  religion  to  regard  death  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  life, 
nor  am  I  sufficiently  philosophical  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
prospect  of  annihilation.  I  envy  no  one  so  much  as  the 
religious  man.  .  .  ." 


"The  Valse  gives  me  infinite  trouble.     I  am  growing 
old.  ,   ,  ." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 


457 


"May  6th  (iZth  Sunday). 

"  Went  to  church.  I  was  very  susceptible  to  religious 
impressions,  and  felt  the  tears  in  my  eyes.  The  simple, 
healthy,  religious  spirit  of  the  poorer  classes  always  touches 
me  profoundly.  The  worn-out  old  man,  the  little  lad  of 
four,  who  goes  to  the  holy  water  of  his  own  accord." 

"  May  StA  (2oM),  1884. 

"Worked  all  morning.  Not  without  fatigue,  but  my 
Andante  progresses,  and  seems  likely  to  turn  out  quite 
nice  ...  finished  the  Andante.  I  am  very  pleased  with  it." 

At  this  time  Tchaikovsky  resolved  to  take  a  small 
country  house  on  his  own  account.  "  I  want  no  land,"  he 
wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  "  only  a  little  house,  with 
a  pretty  garden,  not  too  new.  A  stream  is  most  desirable. 
The  neighbourhood  of  a  forest  (which  belonged  to  some- 
one else)  would  be  an  attraction.  The  house  must  stand 
alone,  not  in  a  row  of  country  villas,  and,  most  important 
of  all,  be  within  easy  reach  of  a  station,  so  that  I  can  get 
to  Moscow  at  any  time.  I  cannot  afford  more  than  two 
to  three  thousand  roubles." 

Diary. 

"May  \\th(2$rd\  1884. 

"  The  first  movement  of  the  Suite,  which  is  labelled 
'  Contrasts/  and  the  theme  : 


has  grown  so  hateful  since  I  tormented  myself  about  it  all 
day  long  that  I  resolved  to  set  it  aside  and  invent  some- 
thing else.  After  dinner  I  squeezed  the  unsuccessful 
movement  out  of  my  head.  What  does  it  mean  ?  I  now 
work  with  such  difficulty  !  Am  I  really  growing  old  ?  " 


458  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

11  May  \2th 

"  After  tea  I  took  up  the  hateful  '  Contrasts '  once  more. 
Suddenly  a  new  idea  flashed  across  me,  and  the  whole 
thing  began  to  flow." 

"May  \>]th  (29^). 

"  Played  Mozart,  and  enjoyed  it  immensely.  An  idea 
for  a  Suite  from  Mozart." 

"May  \%th  (30^). 

"  I  am  working  too  strenuously,  as  though  I  were  being 
driven.  This  haste  is  unhealthy,  and  will,  perhaps,  reflect 
upon  the  poor  Suite.  My  work  (upon  the  variations 
before  the  finale)  has  been  very  successful.  .  .  ." 

" May  2is t  (June  2nd}. 
"  Worked  well.     Four  variations  completed." 

"May  2$rd(Junetfh\ 
".  .  .  .  The  Suite  is  finished." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"  GRANKINO,  June  2oth  (July  2nd),  1884. 

"  I  live  here  in  a  very  pleasant  way,  a  quiet,  countrified 
existence,  but  I  work  hard.  A  work  of  greater  genius 
than  the  new  Suite  never  was  !  ! !  My  opinion  of  the  new- 
born composition  is  so  optimistic ;  God  knows  what 
I  shall  think  of  it  a  year  hence.  At  least  it  has  cost 
me  some  pains." 

To  S.  /.   Taneiev. 
" GRANKINO,  June  30^  (July  i2th\  1884. 

".  .  .  .  Although  it  was  interesting  to  hear  your  opinion 
of  my  songs,  I  was  rather  angry  with  you  for  saying 
nothing  whatever  about  your  own  work,  plans,  etc. 

"  Your  criticisms  of  the  songs — the  end  of  the  '  Legend," 
and  the  abuse  of  the  minor  in  the  '  Lied  vom  Winter ' — 
are  very  just.  ...  I  should  like  to  say  your  praise  was 
equally  well  deserved,  but  modesty  forbids.  So  I  will  not 
say  you  are  right,  but  that  I  am  pleased  with  your  com- 
mendations. . 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  459 

"  At  the  present  moment  I  am  composing  a  third  Suite. 
I  wanted  to  write  a  Symphony,  but  it  was  not  a  success. 
However,  the  title  is  of  no  consequence.  I  have  composed 
a  big  symphonic  work  in  four  movements:  (i)  Andante  ; 
(2)  another  Valse  ;  (3)  Scherzo  ;  (4)  Theme  and  Variations. 
It  will  be  finished  by  the  end  of  the  summer,  for  I  am 
working  regularly  and  with  zeal.  Besides  this,  I  am 
planning  a  concert-piece  for  pianoforte  in  two  movements. 
It  would  be  a  fine  thing  if  the  work  could  be  played  during 
the  coming  season  ! " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  GRANKINO,  July  \tfh  (26^),  1884. 

"  I  shall  not  set  to  work  upon  the  pianoforte  Concerto,  of 
which  I  wrote  to  you,  before  autumn  or  early  winter.  Of 
course,  it  will  be  difficult  ever  again  to  find  such  an 
ideal  interpreter  as  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  but  there  is  a 
pianist  whom  I  had  in  my  mind  when  I  thought  of  a  second 
Concerto.  This  is  a  certain  young  man,  called  d'Albert, 
who  was  in  Moscow  last  winter,  and  whom  I  heard  several 
times  in  public  and  at  private  houses.  To  my  mind  he 
is  a  pianist  of  genius,  the  legitimate  successor  of  Rubin- 
stein. Taneiev — whom  I  value  very  highly  as  musician, 
teacher,  and  theorist — would  also  be  a  suitable  interpreter, 
if  he  had  just  that  vein  of  virtuosity  wherein  lies  the  secret 
of  the  magic  spell  which  great  interpreters  exercise  over 
the  public." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  SKABEIEVKA,  July  2%th  (August  qth\  1884. 

"  The  coachman  will  have  told  you  our  adventures.  All 
went  well  as  far  as  Kochenovka.  There  1  had  supper,  and 
read  Sapho  by  the  mingled  light  of  the  moon  and  a  lantern, 
keeping  an  anxious  eye  upon  the  lightning  that  was  flash- 
ing all  around.  At  11.30  p.m.  we  resumed  our  journey. 
The  storm  came  nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  broke  over  our 
heads.  Although  the  constant  flashes  were  mild,  and  the 
rain  wetted  us  through,  my  nerves  were  overstrained.  I 
was  convinced  we  should  miss  the  train.  .  .  .  Fortunately 
it  was  late.  Here  we  had  an  appalling  storm.  The  sight 


460  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  it  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  which  still  glowed  here  and 
there  through  the  clouds,  was  so  grand  that,  forgetful  of 
my  fears,  I  stood  by  the  door  to  watch  it.  The  rest  of 
the  journey  was  comfortable.  I  read  Sapho,  which  I  do 
not  like." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"SKABEIEVKA,  July  2$th  (August  6th\  1884. 

".  .  .  You  ask  my  opinion  upon  Daudet's  Sapho  ...  in 
spite  of  his  great  talent,  this  author  has  long  since  dropped 
out  of  favour  with  me.  If  Daudet  had  not  dedicated  the 
book  to  his  sons  in  order  to  display  the  fact  that  it  contained 
a  lesson  and  a  warning,  I  should  say  that  he  had  described 
the  sensuality  and  depravity  of  the  hero  and  heroine  very 
simply  and  picturesquely,  with  considerable  sympathy. 
But  in  view  of  this  dedication  I  feel  indignant  at  the 
Pharisaism  and  false  virtuousness  of  the  author.  In  reality 
he  wants  to  tickle  the  depraved  taste  of  his  public,  and 
describes  with  cynical  frankness  the  immorality  of  Parisian 
life,  while  pretending  to  deliver  a  sermon  to  his  sons.  He 
would  have  us  believe  him  to  be  pursuing  a  moral  aim, 
actuated  by  the  noble  aspiration  of  saving  the  young  from 
evil  ways.  In  reality  his  only  aim  was  to  produce  a  book 
which  would  please  the  immoral  Parisian  public,  and  to 
make  money  by  it.  One  must  own  that  he  has  attained 
his  object.  The  book  will  have  a  great  success,  like  Zola's 
Pot-Bouille,  the  novels  of  Guy  de  Maupassant,  and 
similar  works  of  the  new  French  school.  When  we  reflect 
upon  the  group  of  people,  and  their  way  of  life,  as  de- 
picted by  the  author,  we  come  to  the  conclusion  that  under 
the  cloak  of  verisimilitude  and  realism  the  novel  is  funda- 
mentally false.  Sapho  is  an  impossible  being;  at  least 
I  never  came  across  a  similar  combination  of  honourable 
feeling  and  baseness,  of  nobility  and  infamy.  Yet  the 
author  always  sympathises  with  his  heroine,  and  although, 
judging  from  the  dedication,  she  is  intended  to  inspire  his 
sons  with  horror  and  repulsion,  she  must  really  seem  very 
attractive  to  them.  On  the  other  hand,  the  virtuous 
characters  in  the  book  could  not  appeal  sympathetically 
either  to  Daudet's  sons,  or  to  anyone  else ;  the  tiresome 
Divonne,  the  hero's  impossible  sister,  and  the  rest  of 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  461 

them — all  these  people  are  quite  artificial.  Sapho  is  an 
overdrawn  type  of  a  Parisian  cocotte,  but  there  is  some- 
thing true  to  nature  in  her.  The  others  are  not  alive. 
Most  insipid  of  all  is  Irene.  Any  young  man  reading  the 
book  must  realise  why  Sapho  succeeded  in  supplanting 
her  in  the  heart  of  her  husband  Jean.  It  is  here  that 
Daudet's  hypocrisy  is  so  evident,  for  while  we  ought  to 
sympathise  with  Irene  as  greatly  as  we  despise  Sapho,  in 
reality  we  involuntarily  take  the  part  of  the  depraved 
heroine.  At  the  same  time  we  cannot  deny  the  great 
talent  and  mastery  displayed  in  the  book.  Two  or  three 
dozen  pages  are  wonderfully  written." 


XX 

Early  in  September,  1884,  Tchaikovsky  went  to  stay  at 
Plestcheievo,  a  country  property  which  Nadejda  von  Meek 
had  purchased  after  circumstances  compelled  her  to  sell 
Brailov.  Here  he  led  the  kind  of  life  which  suited  him 
best — reading,  composing,  and  studying  the  works  of  other 
musicians,  in  undisturbed  quiet  and  freedom  from  social 
duties. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PLESTCHEIEVO,  September  %th  (zo/Vfc),  1884. 

"  I  have  realised  two  intentions  since  I  came  here — the 
study  of  two  works  hitherto  unknown  to  me — Moussorg- 
sky's  Khovanstchina  and  Wagner's  Parsifal.  In  the  first 
I  discovered  what  I  expected  :  pretensions  to  realism, 
original  conceptions  and  methods,  wretched  technique, 
poverty  of  invention,  occasionally  clever  episodes,  amid 
an  ocean  of  harmonic  absurdities  and  affectations.  .  .  . 
Parsifal  leaves  an  entirely  opposite  impression.  Here  we 
are  dealing  with  a  great  master,  a  genius,  even  if  he  has 
gone  somewhat  astray.  His  wealth  of  harmony  is  so 
luxuriant,  so  vast,  that  at  length  it  becomes  fatiguing, 
even  to  a  specialist.  What  then  must  be  the  feelings  of  an 
ordinary  mortal  who  has  wrestled  for  three  hours  with  this 


462  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

flow  of  complicated  harmonic  combinations  ?  To  my 
mind  Wagner  has  killed  his  colossal  creative  genius  with 
theories.  Every  preconceived  theory  chills  his  incon- 
testable creative  impulse.  How  could  Wagner  abandon 
himself  to  inspiration,  while  he  believed  he  was  grasping 
some  particular  theory  of  music-drama,  or  musical  truth, 
and,  for  the  sake  of  this,  turned  from  all  that,  according 
to  his  predecessors,  constituted  the  strength  and  beauty 
of  music?  If  the  singer  may  not  sing>  but — amid  the 
deafening  clamour  of  the  orchestra — is  expected  to  declaim 
a  series  of  set  and  colourless  phrases,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  a  gorgeous,  but  disconnected  and  formless  symphony,  is 
that  opera  ? 

"  What  really  astounds  me,  however,  is  the  seriousness 
with  which  this  philosophising  German  sets  the  most  inane 
subjects  to  music.  Who  can  be  touched,  for  instance,  by 
Parsifal^  in  which,  instead  of  having  to  deal  with  men  and 
women  similar  in  temperament  and  feeling  to  ourselves,  we 
find  legendary  beings,  suitable  perhaps  for  a  ballet,  but  not 
for  a  music  drama  ?  I  cannot  understand  how  anyone  can 
listen  without  laughter,  or  without  being  bored,  to  those  end- 
less monologues  in  which  Parsifal,  or  Kundry,  and  the  rest 
bewail  their  misfortunes.  Can  we  sympathise  with  them  ? 
Can  we  love  or  hate  them  ?  Certainly  not ;  we  remain 
aloof  from  their  passions,  sentiments,  triumphs,  and  mis- 
fortunes. But  that  which  is  unfamiliar  to  the  human  heart 
should  never  be  the  source  of  musical  inspiration.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PLESTCHEIEVO,  October  $rd  (i$th),  1884. 

"  This  is  my  last  evening  here,  and  I  feel  both  sadness 
and  dread.  After  a  month  of  complete  solitude  it  is  not 
easy  to  return  to  the  vortex  of  Petersburg  life.  To-day 
I  put  all  the  bookshelves  and  music-cases  in  order.  My 
conscience  is  clear  as  to  all  your  belongings.  But  I  must 
confess  to  one  mishap :  one  night  I  wound  the  big  clock 
in  my  bedroom  with  such  energy  that  the  weights  fell 
off,  and  it  now  wants  repairing.  Dear  and  incomparable 
friend,  accept  my  warmest  thanks  for  your  hospitality. 
I  shall  keep  the  most  agreeable  memories  of  Plestcheievo. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  463 

How  often,  when  I  am  in  Petersburg,  will  my  thoughts 
stray  back  to  this  dear,  quiet  house !  Thank  you  again 
and  again." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"PETERSBURG,  October  i2th  (24^),  1884. 
"  DEAR  FRIEND, — When  a  whole  week  passes  without  my 
rinding  time  to  write  to  you,  you  may  conclude  what  a 
busy  life  I  am  leading.  .  .  .  The  first  night1  of  Eugene 
Oniegin  is  fixed  for  Friday,  October  iQth  (3ist)." 

Thanks  to  Napravnik,  this  was  by  far  the  finest  per- 
formance of  Eugene  Oniegin  that  had  hitherto  been  seen. 
Never  had  this  complicated  score  received  so  perfect  an 
interpretation,  both  as  a  whole  and  as  regards  detail, 
because  never  before  had  a  man  so  gifted,  so  capable  and 
sympathetic,  stood  at  the  head  of  affairs.  Yet  even  this 
first  performance  was  by  no  means  irreproachable.  Since 
then,  the  St.  Petersburg  public  has  heard  finer  interpreta- 
tions of  the  parts  of  Tatiana,  Eugene,  and  others,  and 
has  seen  more  careful  staging  of  the  work.  The  soloists 
gave  a  thoughtful  rendering  of  their  parts,  but  nothing 
more.  Not  one  of  them  can  be  said  to  have  "  created  " 
his  or  her  part,  or  left  a  traditional  reading  of  it. 

The  success  of  the  opera  was  great,  but  not  phenomenal. 
There  was  no  hissing,  but  between  the  acts,  mingled  with 
expressions  of  praise  and  appreciation,  many  criticisms 
and  ironical  remarks  were  audible. 

These  unfavourable  views  came  to  light  in  the  Press. 
Cui  thought  the  mere  choice  of  the  libretto  of  Eugene 
Oniegin  proved  that  Tchaikovsky  was  lacking  in  "dis- 
criminating taste,"  and  was  not  capable  of  self-criticism. 
The  chief  characteristic  of  the  opera  was  its  "  wearisome 
monotony."  Tchaikovsky,  he  considered,  was  too  fond 
of  airing  his  troubles  in  his  music.  Finally,  he  pronounced 
the  work  to  be  "  still-born,  absolutely  valueless  and  weak." 

Most  of  the  other  critics  agreed  with  this  view. 

1  At  the  Imperial  Opera. 


464  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  himself  was  "  satisfied."  He  had  not 
realised,  any  more  than  the  critics,  that  the  crowded 
theatre  signified  the  first  great  success  of  a  Russian  opera 
since  Glinka's  A  Life  for  the  Tsar.  In  spite  of  the  Press 
notices,  it  was  not  merely  a  success,  but  a  triumph  ;  a  fact 
which  became  more  and  more  evident.  Dating  from  the 
second  performance,  Eugene  Oniegin  drew  a  long  series  of 
packed  audiences,  and  has  remained  the  favourite  opera 
of  the  Russian  public  to  this  day. 

This  success  did  not  merely  mark  an  important  event 
in  the  history  of  Russian  opera,  it  proved  the  beginning 
of  a  new  era  in  the  life  of  Tchaikovsky  himself.  Hence- 
forward his  name,  hitherto  known  and  respected  among 
musicians  and  a  fairly  wide  circle  of  musical  amateurs, 
was  now  recognised  by  the  great  public,  and  he  acquired 
a  popularity  to  which  no  Russian  composer  had  ever  yet 
attained  in  his  own  land.  Together  with  his  increase  of 
fame,  his  material  prospects  improved.  Eugene  Oniegin 
transformed  him  from  a  needy  into  a  prosperous  man, 
and  brought  him  that  complete  independence  which  was 
so  necessary  to  his  creative  work. 

It  is  instructive  to  observe  that  all  this  was  the  outcome 
of  an  opera  which  was  never  intended  to  appeal  to  the 
masses ;  but  written  only  to  satisfy  the  composer's  en- 
thusiasm for  Poushkin's  poem,  without  any  hope — almost 
without  any  desire — of  seeing  it  performed  on  a  large  stage. 

In  spite  of  its  success,  this  performance  of  Eugene 
Oniegin  was  a  great  strain  upon  the  composer's  nerves. 
He  felt  bound  to  stay  for  the  second  performance,  after 
which  he  left  St.  Petersburg  for  Davos,  having  in  view  a 
twofold  object :  to  take  a  short  rest,  and  to  visit  his  friend 
Kotek,  of  whose  condition  he  had  just  received  disquiet- 
ing intelligence.  Tchaikovsky  broke  his  journey  in 
Berlin,  where  he  saw  Weber's  Oberon  at  the  Opera. 
Instead  of  being  bored  by  this  work,  as  he  expected,  he 
enjoyed  it  very  much.  "  The  music  is  often  enchanting," 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  465 

he  wrote  to  his  brother,  "  but  the  subject  is  absurd,  in  the 
style  of  Zauberflote.  However,  it  is  amusing,  and  I 
roared  with  laughter  in  one  place,  where  at  the  sound  of 
the  magic  horn  the  entire  corps  de  ballet  fall  flat  on  the 
stage  and  writhe  in  convulsions.  ...  I  also  went  to 
Bilse's  and  heard  the  Andante  from  my  own  quartet.  This 
everlasting  Andante  ;  they  want  to  hear  no  other  work  of 
mine ! " 

On  November  I2th  (24th)  he  arrived  at  Davos.  He  ex- 
pected to  find  a  wilderness,  in  which  neither  cigarettes  nor 
cigars  were  to  be  had,  and  the  civilised  aspect  of  the 
place,  the  luxurious  hotels,  the  shops,  and  the  theatre  made 
upon  him  the  fantastic  impression  of  a  dream.  He  had 
dreaded  the  meeting  with  Kotek,  lest  his  friend  should  be 
changed  beyond  recognition  by  the  ravages  of  consump- 
tion. He  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  him  looking 
comparatively  well.  But  this  was  only  a  first  impression  ; 
he  soon  realised  that  Kotek's  condition  was  serious.  He 
remained  a  few  days  at  Davos,  rejoiced  his  friend's  heart 
by  his  presence,  had  a  confidential  interview  with  the 
doctor,  and  left  for  Paris  on  November  I7th  (29th),  after 
having  provided  liberally  for  the  welfare  of  the  invalid. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"ZURICH,  November  iSt/i  (30^),  1884. 

"...  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Stassov  urging  me 
to  present  the  following  manuscripts  to  the  Imperial  Public 
Library:  (j)  «  Romeo  and  Juliet|> 

(2)  '  The  Tempest/ 

(3)  '  Francesca/ 

(4)  '  The  String  Quartet,  No.  3,' 

and  any  others  I  like  to  send.  Of  the  above  works  you  do 
not  possess  the  first  two  ('  The  Tempest '  was  lost  long 
ago !),  but  please  send  him  the  others.  ...  Be  so  good  as 
to  reply  personally,  or  simply  to  send  such  scores  as  you 
can  spare." 

2  H 


466  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  December  yd  (i$th)t  1884. 

"  I  can  scarcely  tell  you,  dear  Modi,  how  wearisome  the 
last  few  days  have  been — although  I  cannot  say  why.  It 
proceeds  chiefly  from  home-sickness,  the  desire  for  a  place 
of  my  own  ;  and  even  the  knowledge  that  I  start  for 
Russia  to-morrow  brings  no  satisfaction,  because  I  have  no 
home  anywhere.  Life  abroad  no  longer  pleases  me.  .  .  . 
I  must  have  a  home,  be  it  in  Kamenka,  or  in  Moscow.  I 
cannot  go  on  living  the  life  of  a  wandering  star.  .  .  . 
Where  will  my  home  be  ?  " 

With  the  year  1884  closes  the  second  period  in  Tchai- 
kovsky's artistic  career.  To  distinguish  it  from  the 
"  Moscow  period,"  which  was  inseparably  connected  with 
his  teaching  at  the  Conservatoire,  it  might  be  described  as 
the  "Kamenka  period."  Not  only  because  from  1878-84 
Kamenka  was  his  chief  place  of  residence,  but  still  more 
because  the  life  there  answered  to  the  whole  sum  of  his 
requirements,  to  all  which  characterised  his  spiritual  con- 
dition during  these  years.  After  the  terrible  illness  in 
1877  he  found  in  Kamenka,  far  more  than  in  San  Remo, 
Clarens,  or  France,  all  he  needed  for  his  recovery ;  during 
these  seven  years,  it  was  at  Kamenka  that  he  gathered 
force  and  recuperated  for  the  life  which  was  becoming  in- 
finitely more  strenuous  and  many-sided. 

Those  who  have  been  at  death's  door  often  speak  of 
their  return  to  health  as  the  happiest  time  in  their  lives. 
Tchaikovsky  could  say  the  same  of  the  first  years  of  the 
Kamenka  period.  Happy  in  the  friendship  of  Nadejda 
von  Meek  and  surrounded  by  his  sister's  family,  who 
loved  him,  and  whom  he  loved,  his  whole  life  shows  no 
gladder  days  than  these. 

But  with  a  gradual  return  to  a  normal  state  of  mind 
Tchaikovsky's  relations  to  his  environment  underwent  a 
change.  As  the  years  went  on,  Kamenka  became  too 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  467 

narrow  a  circle  for  him  ;  he  felt  the  want  of  "  social  inter- 
course " ;  the  sympathy  of  his  relations  ceased  to  be  the 
one  thing  indispensable ;  the  conditions  of  the  family  life 
palled,  and  sometimes  he  grumbled  at  them.  By  the 
middle  of  the  eighties,  he  was  so  much  stronger  that  he 
was  possessed  by  a  desire  for  complete  independence  and 
liberty  of  action.  He  no  longer  dreaded  either  absolute 
solitude,  or  the  society  of  those  whose  interests  were  identical 
with  his  own.  By  absolute  solitude  we  do  not  mean  that 
solitary  leisure  which  he  enjoyed  during  his  visits  to 
Brailov  and  Simaki,  during  which  he  was  cared  for,  as 
in  a  fairy  tale,  by  the  invisible  hand  of  the  truest  of 
friends,  but  rather  that  independence  and  freedom  in  every 
detail  of  existence  which  constitutes  the  solitude  of  the 
typical  bachelor's  life. 

In  1878  Tchaikovsky's  dread  of  this  kind  of  solitary 
existence,  like  his  fear  of  social  intercourse,  was  a  symptom 
of  his  terrible  mental  suffering.  Now  his  desire  for  both 
independence  and  society  must  be  regarded  as  a  sign  of 
complete  recovery.  Hence  his  increasing  disposition  in 
his  letters  to  grumble  at  Kamenka,  and  his  final  decision 
to  leave  it.  This  resolve — like  so  many  important  decisions 
in  Tchaikovsky's  life — was  not  the  result  of  mature  re- 
flection. As  usual,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  guided  by 
negative  conclusions.  .  .  .  He  knew  well  enough  that  he 
must  and  would  change  his  manner  of  life ;  he  knew  the 
kind  of  life  that  would  suit  him  for  the  time  being — that  it 
must  be  in  the  country ;  he  observed  with  surprise  his  in- 
creasing need  of  social  intercourse — but  he  had  no  definite 
idea  how  he  should  reconcile  these  contradictory  require- 
ments and,  on  the  very  eve  of  his  new  departure  in  life,  he 
asks  the  question  :  "  Where  will  my  home  be  made  ?  " 

The  answer  to  this  question  is  contained  in  the  follow- 
ing period  of  his  life  and  work. 


PART  VI 


I 

STRONG  and  energetic,  fearing  neither  conflict 
nor  effort,  the  Tchaikovsky  who  entered  upon 
this  new  phase  of  life  in  no  way  resembled  the 
man  we  knew  in  1878. 

The  duties  connected  with  his  public  career  no  longer 
dismayed  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  they  proved  rather  attrac- 
tive, now  he  had  strength  to  cope  with  them.  At  the  same 
time  interests  stirred  within  him  such  as  could  not  have 
been  satisfied  in  his  former  restricted  existence.  Thanks 
to  the  enormous  success  of  Eugene  Oniegin,  his  fame  had 
now  reached  every  class  in  educated  Russia,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  accept  a  certain  role  which — at  least,  in  these 
first  days  of  success — was  not  unpleasant  to  him.  He  was 
glad  to  pay  attentions  to  others,  to  help  everyone  who 
came  his  way,  because  by  this  means  he  could  show  his 
gratitude  to  the  public  for  the  enthusiastic  reception 
accorded  to  his  work.  He  was  no  longer  a  misanthropist, 
rather  he  sought  those  to  whom  he  was  dear,  not  only  as 
a  man,  but  as  a  personage.  Amongst  these,  his  old  and 
faithful  friends  in  Moscow  took  the  first  place.  These 
intimacies  were  now  renewed,  and  every  fresh  meeting 
with  Laroche,  Kashkin,  Jurgenson,  Albrecht,  Hubert,  and 
Taneiev  gave  him  the  keenest  delight.  Although  death 
had  separated  him  from  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  he  showed 
his  devotion  to  the  memory  of  his  friend  by  taking  the 
deepest  interest  in  his  orphaned  children. 

468 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  469 

In  February,  1885, Tchaikovsky  was  unanimously  elected 
Director  of  the  Moscow  branch  of  the  Russian  Musical 
Society. 

As  the  most  popular  musician  in  Russia,  he  no  longer 
avoided  intercourse  with  his  fellow -workers.  He  was 
ready  with  advice,  assistance  and  direction,  and  regarded 
it  as  a  duty  to  answer  every  question  addressed  to  him. 
His  correspondence  with  his  "colleagues"  would  fill  a 
book  in  itself. 

He  received  letters  not  only  from  professional  musicians, 
but  from  amateurs,  male  and  female,  students,  enthusiastic 
girls,  officers,  and  even  occasionally  from  priests.  To  all 
these  letters  he  replied  with  astonishing  conscientiousness 
and  strove,  in  so  far  as  he  could,  to  fulfil  all  their  requests, 
which  often  led  to  touching,  or  sometimes  grotesque,  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude  from  the  recipients  of  his  favours. 

As  a  composer  Tchaikovsky  no  longer  stood  aloof,  leav- 
ing the  fate  of  his  compositions  to  chance ;  nor  did  he 
regard  it  as  infra  dig.  to  make  them  known  through  the 
medium  of  influential  people.  After  a  convalescence 
which  had  lasted  seven  years,  Tchaikovsky  returned  to  all 
these  activities  with  vigour  and  enjoyment,  although  after 
a  time  his  courage  flagged,  and  all  his  strength  of  will  had 
to  be  requisitioned  to  enable  him  "  to  keep  up  this  sort  of 
existence."  Enthusiasm  waned,  and  there  succeeded — in 
his  own  words — "  a  life-weariness,  and  at  times  an  insane 
depression  ;  something  hopeless,  despairing,  and  final — 
and  (as  in  every  Finale)  a  sense  of  triviality." 

The  new  conditions  of  his  life  are  reflected  in  his 
constantly  increasing  circle  of  acquaintances.  In  every 
town  he  visited  he  made  new  friends,  who  were  drawn  to 
him  with  whole-hearted  affection.  With  many  of  them  he 
entered  into  brisk  correspondence.  In  some  cases  this 
was  continued  until  his  death  ;  in  other  instances  the 
exchange  of  letters  ceased  after  a  year  or  two,  to  make 
way  for  a  fresh  correspondence. 


470  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

The  most  important  and  interesting  of  Tchaikovsky's 
correspondents  during  this  time  are:  Julie  Spajinsky, 
wife  of  the  well-known  dramatist  (1885-1891);  Emilie 
Pavlovskaya,  the  famous  singer,  with  whom  Tchaikovsky 
became  acquainted  during  the  rehearsal  for  Mazeppa  in 
1884,  and  continued  to  correspond  until  1888  ;  the  Grand 
Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich ;  the  composer  Ippo- 
litov-Ivanov  and  his  wife,  the  well-known  singer,  Zaroudna ; 
Vladimir  Napravnik,  son  of  the  conductor  :  the  pianists 
Sapellnikov  and  Siloti.  With  Glazounov,  Desiree  Artot, 
Brodsky,  Hubert,  his  cousin  Anna  Merkling,  and  many 
others,  there  was  an  occasional  exchange  of  letters. 

The  greater  part  of  these  communications,  notwith- 
standing the  intimate  style  and  frankness  of  the  writer's 
nature,  bear  signs  of  effort,  and  give  the  impression  of 
having  been  written  for  duty's  sake.  Taken  as  a  whole, 
they  are  not  so  important,  or  so  interesting,  as  the  letters 
to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  and  to  Tchaikovsky's  own  family, 
belonging  to  the  Moscow  period. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  majority  of  new  acquaint- 
ances made  during  the  later  years  of  his  life,  of  which  no 
epistolary  record  remains.  These  were  so  numerous  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  speak  of  them  individually. 
They  included  such  personalities  as  Liadov,  Altani,  Grieg, 
Sophie  Menter,  Emil  Sauer,  Louis  Diemer,  Colonne,  Carl 
Halir,  Besides  these,  he  was  in  touch  with  a  vast  number 
of  people  belonging  to  the  most  varied  strata  of  social  life. 
Among  them  was  Legoshin,  valet  to  his  friend  Kondratiev. 
Tchaikovsky  got  to  know  this  man  by  the  death-bed  of 
his  master,  and  valued  his  purity  of  heart  and  integrity 
more  and  more  as  years  went  by.  Another  unprofessional 
friend  was  the  celebrated  Russian  general,  Dragomirov. 
While  travelling  to  France  by  sea,  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  an  extraordinarily  gifted  boy,  the  son  of  Professor 
Sklifasskovsy.  The  friendship  was  brief  as  it  was  touching, 
for  the  youth  died  a  year  later.  Tchaikovsky  was  deeply 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  471 

affected  by  his  loss,  and  dedicated  to  his  memory  the 
Chant  Elegiaque,  op.  72. 

All  these  new  friendships  served  to  surround  the 
composer  with  that  atmosphere  of  affection  and  apprecia- 
tion which  was  as  indispensable  to  him  as  his  daily  bread. 
But  none  of  them  were  as  deep  and  lasting  as  the  ties  of 
old  days,  none  so  close  and  intimate  ;  nor  did  they  contri- 
bute any  new  element  to  his  inner  life.  .  .  . 

One  word  as  to  the  dearest  of  all  his  later  affections. 
His  sister,  A.  Davidov,  had  three  sons.  The  second  of 
these,  Vladimir,  had  always  been  Tchaikovsky's  favourite 
from  childhood.  Up  to  the  age  of  eighteen,  however, 
these  pleasant  relations  between  uncle  and  nephew  had 
not  assumed  any  deep  significance.  But  as  Vladimir 
Davidov  grew  up,  Tchaikovsky  gradually  felt  for  him  a 
sentiment  which  can  only  be  compared  to  his  love  for  the 
twins,  Toly  and  Modi,  in  their  youth.  The  difference  of 
age  was  no  hindrance  to  their  relations.  Tchaikovsky 
preferred  the  companionship  of  his  nephew ;  was  always 
grieved  to  part  with  him ;  confided  to  him  his  inmost 
thoughts,  and  finally  made  him  his  heir,  commending  to 
this  young  man  all  those  whom  he  still  desired  to  assist 
and  cherish,  even  after  his  death. 


II 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  Moscow,  January  ist  (i$th\  1885. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  wrote,  dear  friend !  Two  events 
have  interrupted  my  correspondence  with  you  :  on  Christ- 
mas Eve  I  received  a  telegram  announcing  the  death  of 
Kotek.  Not  only  was  I  much  upset  by  this  intelligence, 
but  the  sad  duty  of  breaking  the  news  to  his  parents 
devolved  upon  me.  ...  I  have  also  had  to  make  the 
difficult  corrections  in  my  new  Suite  myself.  Hans  von 
Bulow  is  shortly  to  conduct  in  Petersburg,  and  all  must 


472  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

be  ready  four  or  five  days  hence.  While  I  was  away 
nothing  was  done  here.  I  was  furious,  rated  Jurgenson 
and  the  engravers,  and  worked  till  I  was  worn  out ;  there- 
fore I  have  had  no  time  to  lament  for  poor  Kotek." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Moscow,  January  $th  (17^),  1885. 

"  All  my  thoughts  are  now  directed  towards  taking  up 
my  abode  in  some  village  near  Moscow.  I  am  no  longer 
satisfied  with  a  nomadic  existence,  and  am  determined  to 
have  a  home  of  my  own  somewhere.  As  I  am  sure  I  am 
not  in  a  position  to  buy  a  country  house,  I  have  decided 
to  rent  one." 

The  first  performance  of  the  Third  Suite,  which  took 
place  at  a  symphony  concert  in  Petersburg,  on  January  I2th 
(24th),  1885,  under  Von  Biilow's  direction,  was  a  veritable 
triumph  for  Tchaikovsky.  Never  before  had  any  of  his 
works  been  received  with  such  unanimous  enthusiasm. 
Doubtless  this  was  partly  owing  to  the  accessible  and 
attractive  character  of  the  music,  but  far  more  to  the 
admirable  way  in  which  it  was  interpreted. 

Hans  von  Biilow  was  a  great  pianist,  yet  in  this  sphere 
he  had  rivals  who  almost  overshadowed  his  fame.  As  a 
conductor,  however,  he  ranked,  after  Richard  Wagner,  as 
the  first  man  of  his  day.  In  spite  of  his  years  he  was 
as  enthusiastic  as  a  youth,  highly  strung,  receptive,  and  a 
fine  all-round  musician.  He  knew  how  to  bring  out  every 
detail  in  a  work,  and  thus  infused  his  own  virtuoso-inspira- 
tion into  each  individual  player.  Under  him — in  spite  of 
his  mannerisms  and  ungraceful  movements — the  orchestra 
performed  wonders,  and  threw  new  light  upon  the  most 
hackneyed  works  (such  as  the  overture  to  Freischutz\ 
holding  the  attention  of  the  audience  from  the  opening 
phrase  to  the  last  chord. 

Quick,  restless,  and  continually  under  the  influence  of 
some  inspiration,  he  was  as  extreme  and  pitiless  in  his 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  473 

dislikes  as  he  was  sentimental  and  enthusiastic  in  his 
sympathies.  He  could  not  merely  like  or  dislike.  He 
hated  or  adored. 

After  having  been  in  turn  a  passionate  partisan  of  the 
classical  masters,  of  Wagner  and  of  Brahms,  he  became  in 
the  seventies  a  great  admirer  of  Russian  music,  and  was 
devoted  to  Tchaikovsky's  works.  His  devotion  was  then 
at  its  zenith,  consequently  he  put  into  his  interpretation 
of  the  Third  Suite  not  merely  his  accustomed  experience, 
but  all  the  fire  of  his  passing  enthusiasm.  I  say  "  pass- 
ing," because  some  ten  years  later  this  enthusiasm  had 
somewhat  cooled,  and  he  had  begun  to  rave  over  the 
works  of  Richard  Strauss,  who  at  that  time  had  scarcely 
entered  upon  his  career  as  a  composer. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  Moscow,  January  i8fb  (30^),  1885. 

"  DEAR,  KIND  FRIEND, — Forgive  me  my  indolence,  and 
for  so  seldom  writing.  To-day  I  returned  from  Peters- 
burg, where  I  spent  a  week  of  feverish  excitement.  The 
first  few  days  were  taken  up  by  the  rehearsals  for  the 
concert  at  which  my  new  Suite  was  to  be  performed.  I 
had  a  secret  presentiment  that  it  would  please  the  public. 
I  experienced  both  pleasure  and  fear.  But  the  reality  far 
surpassed  my  expectations.  I  have  never  had  such  a 
triumph ;  I  could  see  that  the  greater  part  of  the  audience 
was  touched  and  grateful.  Such  moments  are  the  best 
in  an  artist's  life.  ...  On  the  I5th  (27th)  Oniegin  was 
performed  in  the  presence  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress, 
and  other  members  of  the  Tsar's  family.  The  Emperor 
desired  to  see  me.  We  had  a  long  and  friendly  conversa- 
tion, in  the  course  of  which  he  asked  all  about  my  life  and 
musical  work,  and  then  took  me  to  the  Empress,  who  paid 
me  the  most  touching  attention.  The  following  evening  I 
returned  to  Moscow." 

On  January  i6th  (28th),  the  new  Suite  was  given  in 
Moscow,  under  Erdmannsdorfer.  It  met  with  considerable 


474  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

success,  but  not  with  such  appreciation  as  in  Petersburg. 
Erdmannsdorfer's  interpretation  was  fine,  but  lacked  the 
inspiration  by  means  of  which  Hans  von  Biilow  had  electri- 
fied his  audience.  At  this  time  Tchaikovsky  was  in  search 
of  an  operatic  subject.  Just  then,  says  his  brother  Modeste, 
"  I  was  in  Moscow,  and  remarked  one  day  that  certain 
scenes  from  Shpajinsky's  play,  The  Enchantress ',  would 
make  an  effective  opera  without  using  the  whole  drama  as 
a  libretto."  The  following  day  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  the 
author,  asking  permission  to  use  the  play  for  musical 
setting.  Shpajinsky  replied  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
co-operate  with  the  composer. 

When  the  time  came  for  Tchaikovsky  to  find  a  residence 
in  his  native  land,  or  to  go  abroad  according  to  his  usual 
custom,  he  was  seized  with  an  inexplicable  fear  of  the 
journey,  and  sent  his  servant  Alexis  to  take  a  furnished 
house,  in  the  village  of  Maidanovo,  near  Klin.  "  The 
house,"  he  wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  "contains  many 
beautifully  furnished  rooms,  and  has  a  fine  view.  Ap- 
parently it  is  a  pleasant  place  to  live  in,  but  the  number  of 
rooms  gives  me  some  anxiety,  because  they  must  be 
heated  in  winter."  Finally  he  decided  to  take  it  for  a  year, 
and  should  it  prove  beyond  his  means,  to  look  out  for 
something  more  suitable  in  the  meanwhile. 

The  village  of  Maidanovo  lies  close  to  the  town  of  Klin. 
The  manor  house  stands  upon  a  high  bank,  overlooking 
the  river  Sestra,  and  is  surrounded  by  a  large  park.  Once 
it  belonged  to  an  aristocratic  Russian  family,  but  had 
gradually  fallen  into  decay.  Nevertheless,  it  bore  many 
traces  of  its  former  splendour  :  the  remains  of  a  rosary  in 
front  of  the  fa9ade,  arbours,  lakes,  little  bridges,  rare  trees, 
an  orangery  and  a  marble  vase,  placed  in  a  shady  spot  in 
the  park.  In  1885  this  property  was  already  spoilt  by  the 
numerous  country  houses  built  by  rich  owners  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood.  But  Tchaikovsky  was  so  en- 
amoured of  the  scenery  of  Great  Russia  that  he  was  quite 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  475 

satisfied  with  a  birch  or  pine  wood,  a  marshy  field,  the 
dome  of  a  village  church  and,  in  the  far  distance,  the  dark 
line  of  some  great  forest.  The  chief  motive,  however,  for 
his  choice  of  this  neighbourhood,  where  he  lived  to  the  end 
of  his  days,  was  not  so  much  the  charm  of  scenery  as  its 
situation  between  the  two  capitals.  Klin  lies  near  Moscow, 
and  is  also  easily  accessible  from  Petersburg,  so  that 
Tchaikovsky  was  within  convenient  distance  from  either 
city ;  while  at  the  same  time  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
accidental  visitors,  who  now  frequently  molested  him. 

The  first  glimpse  of  Maidanovo  disappointed  Tchai- 
kovsky. All  that  seemed  splendid  and  luxurious  to  his 
man  Alexis  appeared  in  his  eyes  tasteless  and  incon- 
gruous. Nevertheless,  he  felt  it  would  be  pleasant  as 
a  temporary  residence.  The  view  from  the  windows,  the 
quiet  and  sense  of  being  at  home,  delighted  him.  The  cook 
was  good  and  inexpensive.  The  only  other  servants  he 
employed  were  a  moujik  and  a  washerwoman.  "  In  spite 
of  my  disappointment,"  he  writes  to  his  brother,  "  I  am 
contented,  cheerful,  and  quiet.  ...  I  am  now  receiving  the 
newspapers,  which  makes  life  pleasanter.  I  read  a  great 
deal,  and  am  getting  on  with  English,  which  I  enjoy.  I 
eat,  walk,  and  sleep  when — and  as  much  as — I  please — in 
fact  I  live." 


Ill 

To  E.  Pavlovskaya. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  zsth  (March  ^th\  1888. 

"DEAR  EMILIE  KARLOVNA,— I  rather  long  for  news 
of  you.  Where  are  you  now?  I  have  settled  down 
in  a  village.  My  health  is  not  good  ...  in  Carnival  week 
I  suffered  from  the  most  peculiar  nervous  headaches.  .  .  . 
As  I  felt  sure  my  accursed  and  shattered  nerves  were 
to  blame,  and  I  only  wanted  rest,  I  hurried  into  the 
country.  .  .  .  My  Vakoula  will  be  quite  a  respectable 


476  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

opera,  you  can  feel  sure  of  that.  I  always  see  you  as 
Oxana,  and  so  you  dwell  in  my  company  without  suspect- 
ing it.  I  have  made  every  possible  alteration  which  could 
retrieve  the  work  from  its  unmerited  oblivion.  I  hope 
it  will  be  quite  ready  by  Easter.  I  intend  to  begin  a  new 
opera  in  spring,  so  I  shall  once  more  have  an  opportunity 
of  spending  all  my  time  with  my  '  benefactress.' " l 

In  February  Taneiev  played  the  new  Fantasia  for  piano- 
forte in  Moscow.  Its  immediate  success  was  very  great, 
but  probably  the  applause  was  as  much  for  the  favourite 
pianist  as  for  the  work  itself,  for  neither  in  Moscow  nor 
yet  in  Petersburg  —  where  Taneiev  played  it  a  year 
later — did  this  composition  take  any  lasting  hold  upon 
the  public. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"MAIDANOVO,  March  $th  (ly/A),  1885. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — Your  letter  gave  me  food  for  reflec- 
tion. You  are  quite  right :  property  is  a  burden,  and  only 
he  who  owns  nothing  is  quite  free.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
one  must  have  a  home.  If  I  could  live  in  Moscow,  I  should 
rent  a  house  there.  But  it  is  not  sufficient  to  rent  a  place 
in  the  country  if  one  wants  to  feel  at  home.  Here  in 
Maidanovo,  for  instance,  I  have  already  found  it  very 
unpleasant  to  have  my  landlady  living  close  by.  I  cannot 
plant  the  flowers  I  like,  nor  cut  down  a  tree  that  obstructs 
my  view.  I  cannot  prevent  people  from  walking  in  front 
of  my  windows,  because  there  are  other  houses  let  in 
the  park.  I  think,  with  my  reserved  character  and  nature, 
it  would  be  better  to  have  a  little  house  and  garden  of  my 
own.  .  .  . 

"The  Russian  solitudes  of  which  you  speak  do  not 
frighten  me.  One  can  always  take  a  great  store  of  books 
and  newspapers  from  town,  and,  moreover,  I  am  very 
simple  in  my  tastes. 

"  I  do  not  at  all  agree  with  your  idea  that  in  our  country 

1  Tchaikovsky  addressed  Emilie  Pavlovskaya  by  this  term  in  gratitude  for 
her  splendid  interpretation  of  the  heroine  in  Mazeppa. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  477 

it  must  always  be  horrid,  dark,  marshy ',  etc.  Even  as 
the  Esquimaux,  or  the  Samoyede,  loves  his  icy  northern 
land,  I  love  our  Russian  scenery  more  than  any  other, 
and  a  Russian  landscape  in  winter  has  an  incomparable 
charm  for  me.  This  does  not  hinder  me  in  the  least  from 
liking  Switzerland  or  Italy,  in  a  different  way.  To-day 
I  find  it  particularly  difficult  to  agree  with  you  about 
the  poverty  of  our  Russian  scenery :  it  is  a  bright,  sunny 
day,  and  the  snow  glistens  like  millions  of  diamonds.  A 
wide  vista  lies  before  my  window.  .  .  .  No  !  it  is  beautiful 
here  in  this  land  of  ours,  and  one  breathes  so  easily  under 
this  boundless  horizon. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  think  too  gloomily,  too  despair- 
ingly, of  Russia.  Undoubtedly  there  is  much  to  be 
wished  for  here,  and  all  kinds  of  deceit  and  disorder 
do  still  exist.  But  where  will  you  find  perfection  ?  Can 
you  point  out  any  country  in  Europe  where  everyone 
is  perfectly  contented  ?  There  was  a  time  when  I  was 
convinced  that  for  the  abolishment  of  autocracy  and 
the  introduction  of  law  and  order,  political  institutions, 
such  as  parliaments,  chambers  of  deputies,  etc.,  were  in- 
dispensable, and  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  introduce 
these  reforms  with  great  caution,  then  all  would  turn 
out  well,  and  everyone  would  be  quite  happy.  But  now, 
although  I  have  not  yet  gone  over  to  the  camp  of  the 
ultra-conservatives,  I  am  very  doubtful  as  to  the  actual 
utility  of  these  reforms.  When  I  observe  what  goes  on  in 
other  countries,  I  see  everywhere  discontent,  party  con- 
flict and  hatred  ;  everywhere — in  a  greater  or  less  degree 
— the  same  disorder  and  tyranny  prevails.  Therefore 
I  am  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  there  is  no  ideal 
government,  and,  until  the  end  of  the  world,  men  will  have 
to  endure  in  patience  many  disappointments  with  regard 
to  these  things.  From  time  to  time  great  men — bene- 
factors of  mankind — appear,  who  rule  justly  and  care  more 
for  the  common  welfare  than  for  their  own.  But  these  are 
very  exceptional.  Therefore  I  am  firmly  convinced  that 
the  welfare  of  the  great  majority  is  not  dependent  upon 
principles  and  theories^  but  upon  those  individuals  who,  by 
the  accident  of  their  birth,  or  for  some  other  reason,  stand 
at  the  head  of  affairs.  In  a  word,  mankind  serves  man, 


478  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

not  a  personified  principle.  Now  arises  the  question  : 
Have  we  a  man  upon  whom  we  can  stake  our  hopes? 
I  answer,  Yes,  and  this  man  is  the  Emperor.  His  person- 
ality fascinates  me  ;  but,  apart  from  personal  impressions,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  the  Emperor  is  a  good  man. 
I  am  pleased  with  the  caution  with  which  he  introduces 
the  new  and  does  away  with  the  old  order.  It  pleases 
me,  too,  that  he  does  not  seek  popularity ;  and  I  take 
pleasure  also  in  his  blameless  life,  and  in  the  fact  that 
he  is  an  honourable  and  good  man.  But  perhaps  my 
politics  are  only  the  naivetf  of  a  man  who  stands  aloof 
from  everyday  life  and  is  unable  to  see  beyond  his 
own  profession." 

To  E.  K.  Pavlovskaya. 
"MAIDANOVO,  March  \^th  (26th),  1885. 

"  I  am  now  arranging  the  revised  score  of  Vakoula, 
orchestrating  the  new  numbers  and  correcting  the  old. 
I  hope  to  have  finished  in  a  few  weeks.  The  opera  will 
be  called  Cherevichek?  to  distinguish  it  from  the  numerous 
other  Vakoulas:  Soloviev's  and  Stchourovsky's  for  instance. 
The  authorities  have  promised  to  produce  the  opera  in 
Moscow ;  it  will  hardly  be  possible  in  Petersburg,  as  they 
have  already  accepted  two  new  operas  there. 

"  As  to  The  Captain's  Daughter?  if  only  I  could  find  a 
clever  librettist,  capable  of  carrying  out  such  a  difficult  task, 
I  would  begin  the  work  with  pleasure.  Meanwhile  I  have 
made  a  note  of  The  Enchantress,  by  Shpajinsky.  The 
latter  has  already  started  upon  the  libretto.  He  will  make 
many  alterations  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  it  will  make  a 
splendid  background  for  the  music.  You  will  find  it 
your  most  suitable  role.  If  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane  should 
be  produced,  you  will  continue  to  play  the  part  of  my 
'  benefactress,'  for  you  give  me  incredibly  more  than 
I  give  you.  But  if,  with  God's  help,  I  achieve  The  En- 
chantress, I  hope  I  may  become  your  benefactor  in  some 
degree.  Here  you  shall  have  a  fine  opportunity  to  display 
your  art." 

1  This  means  The  Little  Shoes,  but  the  opera  has  since  been  republished  as 
Les  Caprices  d'Oxane.  2  A  tale  by  Poushkin. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  479 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"MAIDANOVO,  April  $rd  (15^),  1885. 

"  MY  DEAREST  FRIEND, — I  am  once  more  back  in 
Maidanovo,  after  a  week  and  a  half  of  travelling  hither 
and  thither.  I  worked  almost  without  a  break  through 
the  whole  week  before  Palm  Sunday  and  the  whole  of 
Passion  Week,  in  order  to  be  ready  for  the  Easter  festival. 
By  Saturday  everything  was  finished,  and  (although  not 
well)  I  arrived  in  Moscow  in  time  for  the  early  service. 
I  did  not  pass  my  holidays  very  pleasantly,  and  at  the 
end  of  Easter  Week  I  went  to  Petersburg,  where  I  had  to 
see  Polonsky,  author  of  the  libretto  of  Vakoula,  about  the 
printing  of  the  opera  in  its  new  form.  I  stayed  four  days 
in  Petersburg,  and  spent  them  with  my  relations  in  the 
usual  running  about,  which  I  found  as  wearisome  as  it 
was  fatiguing.  On  Monday  I  travelled  to  Moscow  in 
order  to  attend  the  reception  of  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine  Nicholaevich,  who  was  to  be  present  at  the  per- 
formance of  the  opera  at  the  Conservatoire.  As  a  member 
of  the  Musical  Committee,  I  could  not  avoid  taking  part 
in  the  official  reception  to  the  Grand  Duke,  which  I  found 
a  great  bore.  The  performance  went  very  well.  Many 
thanks  for  sending  me  the  articles  in  the  Novoe  Vremya. 
I  had  already  seen  them,  and  was  very  pleased  with  their 
warmth  of  tone.  I  am  never  offended  at  frank  criticism, 
for  I  am  well  aware  of  my  faults,  but  I  feel  very  bitterly 
the  cold  and  inimical  note  which  pervades  Cui's  criticisms. 
It  is  not  very  long  since  the  Russian  Press  (principally  the 
Petersburg  organs)  began  to  notice  me  in  a  friendly  spirit. 
Ivanov,  the  author  of  the  articles  in  the  Novoe  Vremya, 
had  formerly  no  good  opinion  of  me,  and  used  to  write  in 
a  cold  and  hostile  manner,  although  in  Moscow  I  taught 
him  theory  for  three  years,  and  did  not  in  the  least 
deserve  his  enmity,  as  everyone  knows.  I  can  never 
forget  how  deeply  his  criticism  of  Vakoula  wounded  me 
ten  years  ago." 


480  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Rimsky-Korsakov. 

"MAIDANOVO,  April  6th  (i8/ft),  1885. 

"  DEAR  NICHOLAS  ANDREIEVICH, — Since  I  saw  you 
last  I  have  had  so  much  to  get  through  in  a  hurry  that  I 
could  not  spare  time  for  a  thorough  revision  of  your 
primer.  But  now  and  again  I  cast  a  glance  at  it,  and 
jotted  down  my  remarks  on  some  loose  sheets.  To-day, 
having  finished  my  revision  of  the  first  chapter,  I  wanted 
to  send  you  these  notes,  and  read  them  through  again. 
Then  I  hesitated:  should  I  send  them  or  not?  All  through 
my  criticism  of  your  book1  ran  a  vein  of  irritation,  a 
grudging  spirit,  even  an  unintentional  suspicion  of  hostility 
towards  you.  I  was  afraid  the  mordant  bitterness  of  my 
observations  might  hurt  your  feelings.  Whence  this 
virulence  ?  I  cannot  say.  I  think  my  old  hatred  of  teach- 
ing harmony  crops  up  here  ;  a  hatred  which  partly  springs 
from  a  consciousness  that  our  present  theories  are  unten- 
able, while  at  the  same  time  it  is  impossible  to  build  up 
new  ones ;  and  partly  from  the  peculiarity  of  my  musical 
temperament,  which  lacks  the  power  of  imparting  con- 
scientious instruction.  For  ten  years  I  taught  harmony, 
and  during  that  time  I  loathed  my  classes,  my  pupils,  my 
text-book,  and  myself  as  teacher.  The  reading  of  your 
book  reawakened  my  loathing,  and  it  was  this  which  stirred 
up  all  my  acrimony  and  rancour.  .  .  .  Now  I  am  going  to 
lay  a  serious  question  before  you,  which  you  need  not 
answer  at  once,  only  after  due  consideration  and  discussion 
with  your  wife. 

"  Dare  I  hope  that  you  would  accept  the  position  of 
Director  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire  should  it  be  offered 
you  ?  I  can  promise  you  beforehand  so  to  arrange 
matters  that  you  would  have  sufficient  time  for  composing, 
and  be  spared  all  the  drudgery  with  which  N.  Rubinstein 
was  overwhelmed.  You  would  only  have  the  supervision 
of  the  musical  affairs. 

"Your  upright  and  ideally  honourable  character,  your 
distinguished  gifts,  both  as  artist  and  as  teacher,  warrant 
my  conviction  that  in  you  we  should  find  a  splendid 

1  A  course  of  harmony. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  481 

Director.  I  should  consider  myself  very  fortunate  could 
I  realise  this  ideal. 

"  So  far,  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak  of  it  to  anyone, 
and  beg  you  to  keep  the  matter  quiet  for  the  present. 

"  Think  it  over,  dear  friend,  and  send  me  your  answer.1 . . ." 


To  E.  K.  Pavlovskaya. 

"  MAIDANOVA,  April  \2th  (24^),  1885. 

"MY  DEAR  EMILIE  KARLOVNA, — Your  exceedingly 
malicious  criticism  of  The  Enchantress  not  only  failed 
to  annoy  me,  but  awoke  my  gratitude,  for  I  wanted  to 
know  your  opinion.  I  had  even  thought  of  asking  you 
if  you  would  go  to  see  the  play  itself  and  give  me  your 
impressions.  My  conception  and  vision  of  the  type  of 
Natasha  differs  entirely  from  yours.  Of  course,  she  is  a 
licentious  woman  ;  but  her  spell  does  not  consist  merely 
in  the  fact  that  she  can  win  people  with  her  fine  speeches. 
This  spell  might  suffice  to  draw  customers  to  her  inn — but 
would  it  have  power  to  change  her  sworn  enemy,  the 
Prince,  into  a  lover  ?  Deep  hidden  in  the  soul  of  this  light 
woman  lies  a  certain  moral  force  and  beauty  which  has 
never  had  any  chance  of  development.  This  power  is  love. 
Natasha  is  a  strong  and  womanly  nature,  who  can  only 
love  once,  and  she  is  capable  of  sacrificing  all  and  every- 
thing to  her  love.  So  long  as  her  love  has  not  yet  ripened, 
Natasha  dissipates  her  forces,  so  to  speak,  in  current  coin  ; 
it  amuses  her  to  make  everyone  fall  in  love  with  her  with 
whom  she  comes  in  contact.  She  is  merely  a  sympathetic, 
attractive,  undisciplined  woman;  she  knows  she  is  captivat- 
ing, and  is  quite  contented.  Lacking  the  enlightenment  of 
religion  and  culture — for  she  is  a  friendless  orphan — she 
has  but  one  object  in  life — to  live  gaily.  Then  appears  the 
man  destined  to  touch  the  latent  chords  of  her  better 
nature,  and  she  is  transfigured.  Life  loses  all  worth  for 
her,  so  long  as  she  cannot  reach  her  goal ;  her  beauty,  which, 
so  far,  had  only  possessed  an  instinctive  and  elementary 
power  of  attraction,  now  becomes  a  strong  weapon  in  her 
hand,  by  which,  in  a  single  moment,  she  shatters  the  oppos- 

1  Rimsky-Korsakov  courteously,  but  decidedly,  declined  the  offer. 
2    I 


482  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

ing  forces  of  the  Prince — his  hatred.  Afterwards  they 
surrender  themselves  to  the  mad  passion  which  envelops 
them  and  leads  to  the  inevitable  catastrophe  of  their 
death ;  but  this  death  leaves  in  the  spectator  a  sense  of 
peace  and  reconciliation.  I  speak  of  what  is  going  to  be 
in  my  opera ;  in  the  play  everything  is  quite  different 
Shpajinsky  quite  understands  my  requirements,  and  will 
carry  out  my  intentions  in  delineating  the  principal  char- 
acters. He  will  soften  down  the  hardness  of  Natasha's 
manieres  d?etrey  and  will  give  prominence  to  the  power  of 
her  moral  beauty.  He  and  I— you  too,  later,  if  only  you 
will  be  reconciled  to  this  role — will  so  arrange  things  that 
in  the  last  act  there  shall  not  be  a  dry  eye  in  the  audience. 
This  is  my  own  conception  of  this  part,  and  I  am  sure  it 
must  please  you,  and  that  you  will  not  fail  to  play  it 
splendidly.  My  enthusiasm  for  The  Enchantress  has  not 
made  me  unfaithful  to  the  desire,  so  deeply  rooted  in  my 
soul,  to  illustrate  in  music  those  words  of  Goethe's :  *  The 
eternal  feminine  draws  us  onward.'  The  fact  that  the 
womanly  power  and  beauty  of  Natasha's  character  remain 
so  long  hidden  under  a  cloak  of  licentiousness,  only 
augments  the  dramatic  interest.  Why  do  you  like  the  part 
of  Traviata  or  of  Carmen  ?  Because  power  and  beauty 
shine  out  of  these  two  characters,  although  in  a  somewhat 
coarser  form.  I  assure  you,  you  will  also  learn  to  like 
The  Enchantress" 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  April  26th  (May  8^),  1885. 

"The  business  connected  with  Cherevichek  has  ended 
very  well.  Vsievolojsky  put  an  end  to  the  irresolution  of 
the  so-called  management  and  ordered  the  opera  to  be  pro- 
duced in  the  most  sumptuous  style.  I  was  present  at  a 
committee  at  which  he  presided,  when  the  mounting  was 
discussed.  They  will  send  Valetz,  the  scene-painter,  to 
Tsarskoe-Selo,  so  that  he  may  faithfully  reproduce  some  of 
the  rooms  in  the  palace.  I  am  very  pleased." 


FRAGMENT    FROM    A    LETTER    IN    WHICH    TCHAIKOVSKY    SKETCHES   A   THEME 

FOR  "THE  ENCHANTRESS" 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  483 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"MAIDANOVO,  April  26th  (May  8//fc),  1885. 

"  The  position  of  my  budget  is  as  follows :  I  possess 
(together  with  the  Moscow  royalty  which  I  have  not  yet 
received)  6,000  roubles.  From  Petersburg  and  Moscow 
there  must  still  be  about  800  or  1 ,000  roubles  to  come  in ; 
the  honorarium  from  the  church  music,  300  roubles ;  the 
honorarium  from  the  Moscow  Musical  Society,  300  roubles. 

"  Total :  6000  +  800  +  300  +  300  =  7,500  (sic  /). 

"  Up  to  the  present  I  have  not  received  more  than  3,000 
roubles  from  you. 

"  Consequently  the  capital  which  you  have  in  hand 
amounts  to  4,500-5000  roubles.  A  nice  little  sum." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  May  26th  (June  ^th\  1885. 

"...  I  am  completely  absorbed  in  the  affairs  of  the 
Conservatoire,  and  have  decided  that  the  position  of 
Director  shall  be  offered  to  Taneiev.  If  I  do  not  succeed 
in  this,  I  shall  retire  from  the  Committee.  Finally,  I  can 
tell  you  what,  so  far,  I  have  said  to  no  one  here :  I  hate 
every  public  office  more  than  ever.  Oh,  God  !  how  many 
disappointments  have  I  experienced  and  how  many  bitter 
truths  I  have  learnt !  No !  next  year  I  must  get  right 
away." 

Tchaikovsky  actually  succeeded  in  getting  Taneiev 
chosen  as  Director  of  the  Conservatoire.  Through  him 
Hubert,  who  had  long  been  absent  from  the  Conservatoire, 
was  once  more  reinstated  as  a  teacher.  To  support 
Taneiev's  authority  Tchaikovsky  determined  to  resume 
his  place  upon  the  teaching  staff,  and  undertook  the 
gratuitous  class  for  composition.  This  only  necessitated 
his  attendance  once  a  month  to  supervise  the  work  of 
the  few  (two  to  three)  students  of  which  the  class  was 
composed. 


484  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  June  \$th  (25^),  1885. 

"Alexeiev  has  told  me  that  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
Conservatoire  it  is  not  permissible  for  me  to  be  both  teacher 
and  member  of  Committee.  Of  course,  I  will  not  go  back 
on  my  word,  and  I  leave  it  to  you  to  decide  which  would 
be  the  most  useful— to  remain  on  the  Committee,  or  under- 
take the  somewhat  honorary  post  of  professor.  I  think 
it  would  be  best  to  remain  on  the  Committee,  but  just  as 
you  like.  In  any  case  I  will  do  my  duty  conscientiously, 
on  the  condition  that  my  freedom  is  not  curtailed  and  that 
I  may  travel  whenever  I  please.  .  .  . 

"  So,  my  dear  chief,  my  fate  lies  in  your  hands. 

"  After  some  hesitation  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
compose  Manfred,  because  I  shall  find  no  rest  until  I  have 
redeemed  my  promise,  so  rashly  given  to  Balakirev  in  the 
winter.  I  do  not  know  how  it  will  turn  out,  but  mean- 
time I  am  very  discontented.  No !  it  is  a  thousand  times 
pleasanter  to  compose  without  any  programme.  When 
I  write  a  programme  symphony  I  always  feel  I  am  not 
paying  in  sterling  coin,  but  in  worthless  paper  money." 


IV 

Tchaikovsky  began  the  composition  of  Manfred  in 
June.  The  following  letter  from  Balakirev,  dated  1882, 
led  him  to  choose  this  subject  for  a  symphonic  work. 

M.  Balakirev  to  P.  Tchaikovsky. 
"PETERSBURG,  October  2%th  (November  qth),  1882. 
"  Forgive  me  for  having  left  your  last  letter  so  long  un- 
answered.    I  wanted  to  write  to  you  in  perfect  peace  and 
quiet,   but   many   things   hindered    me.      You   are   more 
fortunate  than  we  are,  for  you  do  not  need  to  give  lessons, 
and  can  devote  your  whole  time  to  art.     I  first  offered  the 
subject  about  which  I  spoke  to  you  to  Berlioz,  who  de- 
clined my  suggestion  on  account  of  age  and  ill-health. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  485 

Your  Francesca  gave  me  the  idea  that  you  were  capable 
of  treating  this  subject  most  brilliantly,  provided  you  took 
great  pains,  subjected  your  work  to  stringent  self-criticism, 
let  your  imagination  fully  ripen,  and  did  not  hurry.  This 
fine  subject — Byron's  Manfred — is  no  use  to  me,  for  it 
does  not  harmonise  with  my  intimate  moods. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  first  of  all  that  your  Symphony — like 
the  Second  Symphony  of  Berlioz — must  have  an  idee  fixe 
(the  Manfred  theme),  which  must  be  carried  through  all 
the  movements.  Now  for  the  programme  : — 

"  First  Movement.  Manfred  wandering  in  the  Alps.  His 
life  is  ruined.  Many  burning  questions  remain  unanswered  ; 
nothing  is  left  to  him  but  remembrance.  The  form  of  the 
ideal  Astarte  floats  before  his  imagination  ;  he  calls  to  her 
in  vain  :  the  echo  of  the  rocks  alone  repeats  her  name. 
Thoughts  and  memories  burn  in  his  brain  and  prey  upon 
him  ;  he  implores  the  forgetfulness  that  none  can  give 
him  (F  $  minor,  second  theme  D  major  and  F  $  minor). 

"  Second  Movement.  In  complete  contrast  to  the  first. 
Programme :  The  customs  of  the  Alpine  hunters :  patri- 
archal, full  of  simplicity  and  good  humour.  Adagio 
Pastorale  (A  major).  Manfred  drops  into  this  simple  life 
and  stands  out  in  strong  contrast  to  it.  Naturally  at  the 
beginning  a  little  hunting  theme  must  be  introduced,  but 
in  doing  this  you  must  take  the  greatest  care  not  to  descend 
to  the  commonplace.  For  God's  sake  avoid  copying  the 
common  German  fanfares  and  hunting  music. 

"Third Movement.  Scherzo  fantastique  (D  major).  Man- 
fred sees  an  Alpine  fairy  in  the  rainbow  above  a  waterfall. 

" Fourth  Movement.  Finale  (F  ft  minor).  A  wild  Allegro 
representing  the  caves  of  Ariman,  whither  Manfred  has 
come  to  try  and  see  Astarte  once  more.  The  appearance 
of  Astarte's  wraith  will  form  the  contrast  to  these  infernal 
orgies  (the  same  theme  which  was  employed  in  the  first 
movement  in  D  major  now  reappears  in  D  b  major ;  in 
the  former  it  dies  away  like  a  fleeting  memory,  and  is 
immediately  lost  in  Manfred's  phase  of  suffering — but  now 
it  can  be  developed  to  its  fullest  extent).  The  music  must 
be  light,  transparent  as  air,  and  ideally  virginal.  Then 
comes  the  repetition  of  Pandemonium,  and  finally  the 
sunset  and  Manfred's  death. 


486  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

"  Is  it  not  a  splendid  programme  ?  I  am  quite  convinced 
that  if  you  summon  up  all  your  powers  it  will  be  your 
chef-d'oeuvre. 

"  The  subject  is  not  only  very  deep,  but  in  accordance 
with  contemporary  feeling  ;  for  all  the  troubles  of  the 
modern  man  arise  from  the  fact  that  he  does  not  know 
how  to  preserve  his  ideals.  They  crumble  away  and 
leave  nothing  but  bitterness  in  the  soul.  Hence  all  the 
sufferings  of  our  times." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  June  \$th  (25^),  1885. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND. — I  can  at  last  congratulate  you  on 
the  beautiful  weather.  I  should  enjoy  it  twice  as  much  if 
Maidanovo  were  more  congenial  to  me.  But  alas  !  the 
lovely  park,  the  beautiful  views,  and  the  splendid  bath,  are 
all  alike  spoiled  by  the  summer  visitors.  I  cannot  take  a 
step  in  the  park  without  coming  across  some  neighbour.  It 
was  beautiful  in  the  winter,  but  I  ought  to  have  thought  of 
the  summer  and  the  summer  tourist. 

"  I  am  deep  in  the  composition  of  a  new  symphonic 
work.  Shpajinsky  could  not  send  me  the  first  act  of  The 
Enchantress  at  the  date  agreed  upon,  so  without  losing  any 
time,  in  April  I  set  to  work  upon  the  sketches  for  a 
programme  Symphony,  upon  the  subject  of  Byron's 
Manfred.  I  am  now  so  deep  in  the  composition  of  this 
work  that  the  opera  will  probably  have  to  be  laid  aside  for 
some  time.  The  Symphony  gives  me  great  trouble.  It  is 
a  very  complicated  and  serious  work.  There  are  times 
when  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be  wise  to  cease  from  com- 
posing for  a  while ;  to  travel  and  rest.  But  an  unconquerable 
desire  for  work  gains  the  upper  hand  and  chains  me  to  my 
desk  and  piano." 

To  E.  K.  Pavlovskya. 
1 '  MAIDANOVO,  July  2<zth  (August  ist),  1885. 

"...  I  have  been  playing  through  some  numbers  from 
Harold.  A  very  interesting  work  and  a  clever  one,  well 
thought  out  and  full  of  talent.  But  are  you  not  surprised 
that  Napravnik,  who  is  so  against  Wagner,  should  have 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  487 

written  a  genuine  Wagnerian  opera  ?     I  was  filled  with 
astonishment." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  MAIDANOVO,  August  yd  (15^),  1885. 

"  The  horizon  has  been  shrouded  for  days  in  thick  mist, 
caused,  they  say,  by  forest  fires  and  smouldering  peat- 
mosses. This  mist  gets  thicker  and  thicker,  and  I  begin 
to  fear  we  shall  be  suffocated.  It  has  a  very  depressing 
effect.  In  any  case  my  mental  condition  has  been  very 
gloomy  of  late.  The  composition  of  the  Manfred  Sym- 
phony— a  work  highly  tragic  in  character — is  so  difficult 
and  complicated  that  at  times  I  myself  become  a  Manfred. 
All  the  same,  I  am  consumed  with  the  desire  to  finish  it  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  am  straining  every  nerve :  result — 
extreme  exhaustion.  This  is  the  eternal  cercle  vicieux  in 
which  I  am  for  ever  turning  without  finding  an  issue.  If  I 
have  no  work,  I  worry  and  bore  myself;  when  I  have  it, 
I  work  far  beyond  my  strength." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  August  ^ist  (September  \2th\  1885. 

".  .  .  My  fate,  that  is  to  say  the  question  of  my  future 
home,  is  at  last  decided.  After  a  long  and  unsuccessful 
search  I  have  agreed  to  my  landlady's  proposal  to  remain 
at  Maidanovo.  I  shall  not  stay  in  the  uncomfortable  and 
unsuitable  house  in  which  I  have  been  living,  but  in  one 
which  she  herself  has  occupied.  This  house  stands  some- 
what apart  from  the  others,  and  a  large  piece  of  the  garden 
is  to  be  fenced  in  and  kept  for  my  especial  use ;  the  house 
itself  was  thoroughly  done  up  last  summer.  Although  the 
neighbourhood  is  not  what  I  could  wish,  yet,  taking  into 
consideration  the  proximity  of  a  large  town  with  station, 
shops,  post,  telegraph  office,  doctor  and  chemist — and  also 
my  dislike  for  searching  further — I  have  decided  to  take 
this  place  for  two  years.  It  is  pleasant  and  comfortable, 
and  I  think  I  shall  feel  happy  there.  I  am  now  starting 
to  furnish,  and  shall  enter  on  my  tenancy  on  September 
1 5th.  If  during  the  next  two  years  I  feel  comfortably 
settled,  I  shall  not  search  any  more,  but  remain  there  to 


488  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  end  of  my  days.    It  is  indeed  time  that  I  had  a  settled 
home." 


V 

1885-1886 

All  the  important  epochs  in  Tchaikovsky's  life  were 
preceded  by  a  transition  period  in  which  he  tried,  as  it 
were,  whether  the  proposed  change  would  be  feasible  or 
not.  From  1861-2,  before  he  became  a  student  at  the 
Conservatoire,  he  was  half-musician,  half-official;  in  1866, 
before  he  became  a  professor  at  the  Conservatoire,  and 
entirely  a  Muscovite,  he  was  for  eight  months  half- 
Petersburger  and  half-Muscovite;  in  1877,  before  he  gave 
up  his  professorship  and  started  on  what  he  called  "  the 
nomadic  life  "  of  the  last  seven  years,  he  was  half-professor 
and  half-tourist;  now,  from  February  to  September,  1885, 
he  was  rather  a  summer  visitor  than  an  inhabitant  of  the 
village  of  Maidanovo,  but  he  had  proved  the  firmness  of 
his  decision  to  remain  there.  It  was  only  in  the  beginning 
of  September  that  he  became  the  true  "  hermit  of  Klin," 
who,  alas,  was  often  compelled  to  leave  his  hermitage.  As 
he  had  now  decided  to  settle  down  in  a  home  of  his  own, 
he  proceeded  to  make  it  comfortable.  .  .  .  With  a  school- 
girl's naivete  in  all  practical  questions  of  life,  Tchaikovsky 
could  not  do  much  himself  towards  furnishing  his  little 
home,  and  handed  over  the  task  to  his  servant  Alexis. 
He  himself  only  helped  by  purchasing  the  most  un- 
necessary things  (for  example,  he  bought  two  horses,  which 
he  sold  again  with  great  difficulty,  also  an  old  English 
clock,  which  proved  quite  useless),  or  by  furnishing  his 
library  with  books  and  music.  He  was  as  pleased  as  a 
child,  and  was  never  tired  of  talking  of  "  my  cook,"  "  my 
washerwoman,"  "my  silver,"  "my  tablecloths,"  and  "my 
dog."  He  considered  all  these  to  be  of  the  very  best,  and 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  489 

praised  them  to  the  skies.  With  the  exception  of  some 
portraits  and  ikons,  all  the  remainder  of  Tchaikovsky's 
movable  property  dates  its  existence  from  this  time. 

In  comparison  with  the  luxurious  houses  of  other  men 
in  his  position,  painters,  writers,  and  artists,  Tchaikovsky's 
home  was  very  modest.  It  contained  only  what  was 
absolutely  necessary.  He  did  not  possess  beautiful  or 
luxurious  things,  because  his  means  were  decidedly  smaller 
than  those  of  his  colleagues  in  Western  Europe,  and  also 
because  he  paid  but  little  attention  to  outward  appearances. 
If  tables,  cupboards,  or  curtains  fulfilled  their  purpose  fairly 
well,  he  was  quite  content.  Workmanship  and  material 
were  matters  of  indifference  to  him.  He  also  troubled 
very  little  about  "  style "  (he  could  not  distinguish  one 
style  from  another) ;  even  if  a  table  was  shaky,  or  the 
door  of  a  cupboard  refused  to  close,  he  took  it  all  quite 
calmly.  He  would  not  surround  himself  with  luxury, 
because  his  money  belonged  less  to  himself  than  to  others, 
and  because,  even  at  the  close  of  his  life,  when  his  income 
was  20,000  roubles  a  year,  he  remained  free  from  all 
pretentious  notions. 

Little  as  Tchaikovsky  troubled  about  buying  furniture, 
he  cared  still  less  about  the  placing  of  it.  He  entrusted 
the  matter  entirely  to  the  will  of  his  servant,  who,  knowing 
and  taking  into  consideration  his  little  fancies  and  habits, 
arranged  everything  just  as  "  his  master  liked  it,"  without 
paying  any  heed  to  beauty  or  tastefulness.  Tchaikovsky 
preferred  that  nothing  should  be  altered  in  his  surround- 
ings ;  he  found  it  most  disagreeable  to  have  to  accustom 
himself  to  anything  new,  still  more  to  miss  any  of  his  old 
friends.  Henceforth  a  certain  tradition  which  surrounded 
every  piece  of  furniture  was  always  considered,  if  possible, 
at  each  removal,  so  that  wherever  Tchaikovsky  might  be, 
the  appearance  of  his  room  remained  the  same.  The 
division  of  his  time  in  Klin  was  never  changed  to  the  end 
of  his  life. 


490  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  rose  between  seven  and  eight  a.m.  Took 
tea  (generally  without  anything  to  eat)  between  eight  and 
nine,  and  then  read  the  Bible.  After  which  he  occupied 
himself  with  the  study  of  the  English  language,  or  with 
reading  such  books  as  provided  not  only  recreation,  but  in- 
struction. In  this  way  he  read  Otto  Jahn's  Life  of  Mozart 
in  the  original,  the  philosophical  writings  of  Spinoza, 
Schopenhauer,  and  many  others.  He  next  took  a  walk  for 
about  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  If  Tchaikovsky  talked 
while  taking  his  morning  tea,  or  took  his  walk  in  company 
with  a  visitor,  it  signified  that  he  did  not  intend  to  com- 
pose that  day,  but  would  be  scoring,  writing  letters,  or 
making  corrections.  During  his  life  at  Klin,  when  engaged 
on  a  new  work,  he  could  not  endure  company,  not  only 
in  the  morning,  but  also  during  the  day.  In  earlier  days 
in  Moscow,  abroad,  or  in  Kamenka,  he  had  to  content 
himself  with  the  solitude  of  his  room  during  his  hours  of 
active  work.  The  presence  of  his  servant  Alexis  did  not 
in  any  way  disturb  him.  The  latter,  the  sole  witness  of  the 
creative  process  of  the  majority  of  his  master's  works,  did 
not  even  appear  to  hear  them,  and  only  once  unexpectedly 
gave  expression  to  his  enthusiasm  for  the  Chorus  of 
Maidens  in  the  third  scene  of  Eugene  Oniegin,  to  the  great 
astonishment  and  perturbation  of  his  master.  To  his  "  per- 
turbation," because  he  feared  in  future  to  be  continually 
overheard  and  criticised.  But  this  was  fortunately  the 
only  flash  of  enlightenment  which  penetrated  Safronov's 
musical  darkness. 

Manfred  was  the  last  work  Tchaikovsky  composed  in 
anything  but  complete  isolation,  and  this  is  probably  the 
reason  why  the  task  proved  so  difficult,  and  cost  him  such 
moments  of  depression.  The  principal  advantage  of  his 
new  surroundings  was  the  enjoyment  of  complete  solitude 
during  his  hours  of  work. 

We  may  mention  that  his  reserve  as  to  his  compositions 
dates  from  this  time.  In  the  earlier  days  of  his  musical 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  491 

life  Tchaikovsky  had  been  very  communicative  about  his 
work  ;  even  before  his  compositions  were  finished  he  was 
ready  to  discuss  them.  In  the  evening  he  would  ask  the 
opinion  of  those  with  whom  he  lived  upon  what  he  had 
composed  in  the  morning,  and  was  always  willing  to  let 
them  hear  his  work.  In  course  of  time,  however,  the  circle 
of  those  to  whom  he  communicated  the  fruits  of  his  in- 
spiration became  ever  smaller,  and  when  he  played  any  of 
his  compositions  he  begged  his  hearers  to  keep  their 
opinions  to  themselves.  From  1885  he  ceased  to  show 
his  works  to  anyone.  The  first  to  make  acquaintance 
with  them  was  the  engraver  at  Jurgenson's  publishing 
house. 

Tchaikovsky  never  wasted  time  between  9.30  and  I  p.m., 
but  busied  himself  in  composing,  orchestrating,  making 
corrections,  or  writing  letters.  Before  he  began  a  pleasant 
task  he  always  hastened  to  get  rid  of  the  unpleasant  ones. 
On  returning  from  a  journey  he  invariably  began  with  his 
correspondence,  which,  next  to  proof-correcting,  he  found 
the  most  unpleasant  work.  In  the  nineties  his  corre- 
spondence had  attained  such  volume  that  Tchaikovsky 
was  frequently  engaged  upon  it  from  morning  till  night, 
and  often  answered  thirty  letters  a  day. 

Tchaikovsky  dined  punctually  at  I  p.m.,  and,  thanks 
to  his  excellent  appetite,  always  enjoyed  any  fare  that  was 
set  before  him,  invariably  sending  a  message  of  thanks  to 
the  cook  by  Safronov.  As  he  was  always  very  abstemious 
and  plain  in  his  meals,  it  often  happened  that  his  guests, 
instead  of  complimenting  the  cook,  felt  inclined  to  do  just 
the  contrary.  Wet  or  fine,  Tchaikovsky  always  went  for 
a  walk  after  dinner.  He  had  read  somewhere  that,  in 
order  to  keep  in  health,  a  man  ought  to  walk  for  two  hours 
daily.  He  observed  this  rule  with  as  much  conscientious- 
ness and  superstition  as  though  some  terrible  catastrophe 
would  follow  should  he  return  five  minutes  too  soon. 
Solitude  was  as  necessary  to  him  during  this  walk  as 


492  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

during  his  work.  Not  only  a  human  being,  but  even  a 
favourite  dog  was  a  bother. 

Every  witness  of  his  delight  in  nature  spoilt  his  enjoy- 
ment ;  every  expression  of  rapture  destroyed  the  rapture 
itself,  and  in  the  very  moment  when  he  said  to  his  com- 
panion, "  How  beautiful  it  is  here ! "  it  ceased  to  be  beauti- 
ful in  his  eyes. 

Most  of  the  time  during  these  walks  was  spent  in  com- 
position. He  thought  out  the  leading  ideas,  pondered 
over  the  construction  of  the  work,  and  jotted  down  funda- 
mental themes.  In  Klin  there  are  carefully  preserved 
many  little  exercise  books,  which  he  had  used  for  this 
purpose.  If  in  absence  of  mind  Tchaikovsky  had  left  his 
note-book  at  home,  he  noted  down  his  passing  thoughts 
on  any  scrap  of  paper,  letter,  envelope,  or  even  bill,  which 
he  chanced  to  have  with  him.  The  next  morning  he 
looked  over  these  notes,  and  worked  them  out  at  the 
piano.  With  the  exception  of  two  scenes  in  Eugene 
Oniegin,  some  piano  pieces,  and  songs,  he  always  worked 
out  his  sketches  at  the  piano,  so  that  he  should  not  trust 
entirely  to  his  indifferent  memory.  He  always  wrote  out 
everything  very  exactly,  and  here  and  there  indicated  the 
instrumentation.  In  these  sketches  the  greater  part  of  a 
work  was  generally  quite  finished.  When  it  came  to  the 
orchestration  he  only  copied  it  out  clearly,  without  essenti- 
ally altering  the  first  drafts.  When  he  was  not  busy  with 
music  during  his  walks,  he  recited  aloud  or  improvised 
dramatic  scenes  (almost  always  in  French).  Sometimes  he 
occupied  himself  by  observing  insects.  In  the  garden  at 
Grankino  was  an  ant-hill,  to  which  he  played  the  part  of 
benefactor,  providing  it  with  insects  from  the  steppe. 

During  the  first  year  of  his  life  at  Maidanovo  Tchaikov- 
sky himself  ruined  the  charm  of  these  walks.  Like  every 
good-hearted  summer  visitor  he  had  given  tips  lavishly  to 
the  village  children.  At  first  it  was  a  pleasure,  but  after- 
wards turned  into  a  veritable  nuisance.  The  children 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  493 

waited  for  him  at  every  corner,  and  when  they  noticed 
that  he  began  to  avoid  them,  they  surprised  him  in  the 
most  unexpected  places  in  the  forest.  This  quest  of 
pennies  spread  from  the  children  to  the  young  people  of 
the  village,  nay,  even  to  the  men  and  women,  so  that  at 
last  he  could  hardly  take  a  step  without  being  waylaid  by 
beggars.  There  was  nothing  left  for  Tchaikovsky  but  to 
keep  within  the  precincts  of  his  park. 

About  4  p.m.  Tchaikovsky  went  home  to  tea,  read  the 
papers  if  he  was  alone,  but  was  very  pleased  to  talk  if  he 
had  visitors.  At  five  he  retired  once  more  and  worked  till 
seven.  Before  supper,  which  was  served  at  8  p.m.,  Tchai- 
kovsky always  took  another  constitutional.  This  time  he 
liked  to  have  company,  and  generally  went  into  the  open 
fields  to  watch  the  sunset.  In  the  autumn  and  winter  he 
enjoyed  playing  the  piano  either  alone,  or  arrangements 
for  four  hands  if  Laroche  or  Kashkin  were  there.  After 
supper  he  sat  with  his  guests  till  1 1  p.m.,  playing  cards  or 
listening  while  one  of  them  read  aloud.  Laroche  was  his 
favourite  reader,  not  because  he  showed  any  particular 
talent  that  way,  but  because  at  every  phrase  his  face  ex- 
pressed his  enjoyment,  especially  if  the  author  of  the  book 
happened  to  be  Gogol  or  Flaubert.  When  there  were  no 
visitors,  Tchaikovsky  read  a  number  of  historical  books 
dealing  with  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  or  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  or  played  patience — and  was  a 
little  bored.  At  1 1  p.m.  he  went  to  his  room,  wrote  up 
his  diary,  and  read  for  a  short  time.  He  never  composed 
in  the  evening  after  the  summer  of  1866. 

Unexpected  guests  were  treated  most  inhospitably,  but 
to  invited  guests  he  was  amiability  itself,  and  often  gave 
himself  the  pleasure  of  gathering  together  his  Moscow 
friends — Kashkin,  Hubert,  Albrecht,  Jurgenson,  and 
Taneiev.  But  those  who  stayed  with  him  longest  and 
most  frequently  were  Laroche,  Kashkin,  and  myself. 


494  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


VI 

In  the  beginning  of  the  eighties  Tchaikovsky's  fame 
greatly  increased  in  Europe  and  America,  not  only  with- 
out any  co-operation  on  his  part,  but  even  without  his 
being  aware  of  it.  More  and  more  frequently  came  news 
of  the  success  of  one  or  other  of  his  works,  and  letters 
from  various  celebrated  artists  who  had  played  his  com- 
positions, or  wished  to  do  so.  The  Committees  of  the 
Paris  "  Sebastian  Bach  Society  "  and  the  Association  for 
the  National  Edition  of  Cherubim's  works  both  elected 
him  an  honorary  member.  Nevertheless  it  surprised  him 
greatly  to  learn  that  a  Paris  publisher  (Felix  Mackar)  had 
proposed  to  P.  Jurgenson  to  buy  the  right  of  bringing  out 
his  works  in  France.  The  sum  which  Jurgenson  received 
was  not  indeed  excessive,  but  it  testified  to  the  fact  that 
Tchaikovsky's  fame  had  matured  and  reached  the  point 
when  it  might  bring  him  some  material  advantage.  In- 
cidentally it  may  be  mentioned  that  P.  Jurgenson,  with- 
out any  legal  obligation,  handed  over  to  Tchaikovsky 
half  the  money  he  received  from  F.  Mackar,  so  that  the 
former  became  quite  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  a 
capitalist,  although  at  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  not  a 
single  kopek  to  the  good.  After  F.  Mackar  had  become 
the  representative  of  Tchaikovsky's  interests  in  Paris  he 
pushed  his  works  with  great  zeal.  First  of  all  he  induced 
him  to  become  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Composers 
and  Publishers,  the  aim  of  which  was  to  enforce  a  certain 
fee  for  every  work  by  one  of  its  members  performed  in 
public.  The  yearly  sum  which  Tchaikovsky  now  began  to 
draw  from  France  can  be  taken  as  an  authentic  proof  of 
the  growth  of  his  popularity  in  that  country.  This  sum 
increased  every  year  until  1893.  After  Tchaikovsky's  death 
it  suddenly  decreased  in  a  very  marked  manner.  Else- 
where I  will  give  some  explanation  of  this  curious  fact. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  495 

Mackar  also  started  his  gratuitous  Auditions  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's works.  These  Auditions,  in  spite  of  the  free 
admission,  were  not  very  well  patronised  by  the  Paris 
public,  who  were  satiated  with  music.  But  they  produced 
one  very  important  result.  The  best  artists  (Marsick, 
Diemer,  and  others)  willingly  took  part  in  them,  and 
henceforth  Tchaikovsky's  name  appeared  more  often  in 
the  programmes  of  the  Paris  concerts. 

To  E.  K.  Pavlovskaya. 
"MAIDANOVO,  September  gth  (2ist),  1885. 

"...  Manfred  is  finished,  and  I  have  set  to  work  upon 
the  opera  without  losing  an  hour.  .  .  .  The  first  act  (the 
only  one  in  hand)  is  splendid :  life  and  action  in  plenty. 
If  nothing  prevents  me  I  hope  to  have  the  sketch  ready 
by  the  spring:  so  that  I  may  devote  next  year  to  the 
instrumentation  and  working  out.  The  opera  can  then 
be  produced  in  the  season  1887-8.  Dear  E.  K.,  do  please 
say  a  good  word  on  every  possible  occasion  for  The 
Enchantress? 

To  A.  P.  Merkling. 
"MAIDANOVO,  September  i^th  (25^),  1885. 

"...  Annie,  first  of  all  I  am  going  to  flatter  you  a  little 
and  then  ask  you  to  do  something  for  me.  After  much 
searching  and  trouble  I  have  rented  a  very  pretty  house 
here  in  Maidanovo.  ...  I  am  now  furnishing  this  house 
.  .  .  now  .  .  .  some  good  people  .  .  .  have  promised  .  .  . 
if  I  am  not  mistaken  .  .  .  that  is,  how  shall  I  express 
myself?  ...  to  sew  .  .  .  woollen  portieres  ...  or  cur- 
tains .  .  .  that  is,  1  would  like  to  know  .  .  .  perhaps  at 
once  ...  if  you  would  ...  I,  in  a  word  ...  oh !  how 
ashamed  I  am  .  .  .  write  please,  how  what  .  .  .  now,  I 
hope,  I  have  made  myself  understood.  .  .  ."1 

1  Anna  Petrovna  kept  her  promise,  and  made  the  curtains  which  ornament 
the  dining-room  at  Klin  till  this  day. 


496  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  A.S.  Arensky. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  September  2$th  (October  7//&),  1885. 

"  DEAR  ANTON  STEPANOVICH, — Pardon  me  if  I  force 
my  advice  upon  you.  I  have  heard  that  5/4  time  appears 
twice  in  your  new  Suite.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  mania 
for  5/4  time  threatens  to  become  a  habit  with  you.  I  like 
it  well  enough  if  it  is  indispensable  to  the  musical  idea, 
that  is  to  say  if  the  time  signature  and  rhythmic  accent 
respectively  form  no  hindrance.  For  example,  Glinka,  in 
the  chorus  of  the  fourth  act  of  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,  clearly 
could  not  have  written  in  anything  else  but  5/4  time  :  here 
we  find  an  actual  5/4  rhythm  that  is  a  continual  and  uni- 
form change  from  2/4  to  3/4  : 


"It  would  be  curious,  and  certainly  'an  effort  to  be 
original/  to  write  a  piece  with  a  simple  rhythm  of  2/4 
or  3/4  time  in  5/4  time.  You  will  agree  with  me  that  it 
would  have  been  very  stupid  of  Glinka  to  have  written 
his  music  thus: 

"It  would  be  the  same  to  the  ear  whether  2/4  or  3/4  :  it 
would  not  be  a  mathematical  blunder,  but  a  very  clumsy 
musical  one. 

"  You  have  made  just  such  a  mistake  in  your  otherwise 
beautiful  Basso  ostinato.  I  made  the  discovery  yesterday 
that  in  this  instance  5/4  time  was  not  at  all  necessary. 
You  must  own  that  a  series  of  three  bars  of  5/4  is  mathe- 
matically equal  to  a  similar  series  of  3/4  time ; l  in  music, 
on  the  contrary,  the  difference  between  them  is  quite  as 
sharp  as  between  3/4  and  6/8. 

1  A  series  of  five  bars  of  3/4  is  evidently  meant. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  497 

"In  my  opinion,  your  Basso  ostinato  should  be  written 
in  3/4  or  6/4  time,  but  not  in  5/4. 


"  I  cannot  imagine  a  more  distinct  five-bar  rhythm  in 
3/4  time.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
11  MAIDANOVO,  September  27/7*  (October  qth),  1885. 

"  The  first  act  of  The  Enchantress  lies  finished  before 
me,  and  I  am  growing  more  and  more  enthusiastic  over 
the  task  in  prospect. 

"  Dear  friend,  I  like  your  arrogant  views  upon  my  opera. 
You  are  quite  right  to  regard  this  insincere  form  of  art 
with  suspicion.  But  for  a  composer  opera  has  some  irre- 
sistible attraction ;  it  alone  offers  him  the  means  of  getting 
into  touch  with  the  great  public.  My  Manfred  will  be 
played  once  or  twice,  and  then  disappear;  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  people  who  attend  symphony  concerts,  no 
one  will  hear  it.  Opera,  on  the  contrary — and  opera 
alone — brings  us  nearer  to  our  fellows,  inoculates  the 
public  with  our  music,  and  makes  it  the  possession,  not 
only  of  a  small  circle,  but — under  favourable  circum- 
stances— of  the  whole  nation.  I  do  not  think  this  ten- 
dency is  to  be  condemned  ;  that  is  to  say,  Schumann, 
when  he  wrote  Genoveva,  and  Beethoven,  when  he  wrote 
Fidelio,  were  not  actuated  by  ambition,  but  by  a  natural 
desire  to  increase  the  circle  of  their  hearers  and  to  pene- 
trate as  far  as  possible  into  the  heart  of  humanity.  There- 
fore we  must  not  only  pursue  what  is  merely  effective,  but 
choose  subjects  of  artistic  worth  which  are  both  interesting 
and  touching." 


2  K 


498  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  M.   Tchaikovsky. 
"MAIDANOVO,  October  ist  (13^),  1885. 

"  What  a  wretch  Zola  is ! !  A  few  weeks  ago  I  acci- 
dentally took  up  his  Germinal,  began  to  read  it,  got 
interested,  and  only  finished  it  late  at  night.  I  was  so 
upset  that  I  had  palpitations,  and  sleep  was  impossible. 
Next  day  I  was  quite  ill,  and  now  I  can  only  think  of  the 
novel  as  of  some  fearful  nightmare.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"  MAIDANOVO,  October  §th  (2ist),  1885. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — Hubert  tells  me  you  do  not  think  it 
possible  to  publish  Manfred  this  season.  Is  this  true? 
The  question  is  this,  I  cannot  allow  two  opportunities  to 
slip:  (i)  Biilow  is  conducting  in  Petersburg;  (2)  Erd- 
mannsdorfer  is  conducting  in  Moscow — perhaps  his  last 
season — and,  in  spite  of  all,  he  is  one  of  the  few  people  on 
whom  I  can  depend.  On  the  other  hand,  I  am  not  in  a 
position  to  spend  an  incredible  amount  of  trouble  on  a 
work  which  I  regard  as  one  of  my  very  best,  and  then  wait 
till  it  is  played  some  time.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  is 
all  the  same  to  me  whether  it  is  played  from  written  or 
printed  notes — so  long  as  it  is  done.  I  believe  it  might  be 
ready  by  February.  But  if  you  think  that  this  is  quite 
impossible,  then  I  propose  that  you  decline  Manfred 
altogether  (this  will  not  offend  me  at  all,  for  I  know  you 
cannot  do  the  impossible  for  the  sake  of  my  whims).  Only 
understand  that  I  cannot  on  any  account  wait  till  next 
season,  and  cost  what  it  may,  1  will  see  Manfred  pro- 
duced. Do  not  take  my  caprice  (if  it  is  a  caprice)  amiss, 
and  answer  me  at  once." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  October  nth  (zyd\  1885. 

"...  As  regards  the  lofty  significance  of  symphony 
and  chamber  music  in  comparison  with  opera,  let  me  only 
add  that  to  refrain  from  writing  operas  is  the  work  of  a 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  499 

hero,  and  we  have  one  such  hero  in  our  time — Brahms. 
Cui  has  justly  remarked  in  one  of  his  recent  articles  that 
Brahms,  both  as  man  and  artist,  has  only  followed  the 
highest  ideals — those  which  were  worthy  of  respect  and 
admiration.  Unfortunately  his  creative  gift  is  poor,  and 
does  not  correspond  to  his  great  aspirations.  Nevertheless 
he  is  a  hero.  This  heroism  does  not  exist  in  me,  for  the 
stage  with  all  its  glitter  attracts  me  irresistibly." 


VII 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  November  igth  (December  ist),  1885. 

"...  I  spent  a  week  in  Moscow,  and  was  present  at 
three  concerts.  The  first,  given  by  Siloti,  who  has  just 
returned  from  abroad  to  serve  his  time  in  the  army.  He 
has  made  great  progress.  Then  the  Musical  Society  gave 
a  concert  and  quartet-matinee,  at  which  the  celebrated 
Paris  violinist,  Marsick,  played.  All  three  concerts  gave 
me  great  pleasure,  as  I  have  not  heard  any  good  music  for 
so  long.  For  a  musician  who  writes  as  much  as  I  do  it  is 
very  necessary  and  refreshing  to  hear  foreign  music  from 
time  to  time.  Nothing  inspires  me  more  than  listening  to 
a  great  foreign  work  :  immediately  I  want  to  write  one 
equally  beautiful. 

"  I  have  also  been  once  or  twice  to  the  Conservatoire, 
and  was  very  pleased  to  notice  that  Taneiev  is  just  the 
Director  we  wanted  under  the  circumstances.  His  work 
shows  resolution,  firmness,  energy,  and  also  capability.  I 
hear  nothing  about  Les  Caprices  cTOxane>  and  begin  to 
fear  the  work  will  not  be  produced  this  season." 

The  following  letter  was  written  after  Ippolitov-Ivanov 
had  communicated  the  success  of  Mazeppa  in  Tiflis. 


500  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  M.  M.  Ippolitov-Ivanov.^ 

"December  6th  (i8M),  1885. 

"...  As  to  Mazeppci)  accept  my  warmest  thanks.  My 
brother  and  his  wife,  who  live  in  Tiflis,  and  had  seen  the 
opera  in  Moscow  and  Petersburg,  tell  me  it  went  splen- 
didly. 

"  For  some  time  I  have  been  longing  to  find  a  subject — 
not  too  dramatic — for  an  opera,  and  then  to  write  a  work 
suitable  to  the  resources  of  the  provincial  stage.  Should 
God  grant  me  a  long  life,  I  hope  to  carry  out  this  plan, 
and  thus  to  obliterate  the  unpleasant  recollections  of  the 
immeasurable  trouble  which  the  rehearsals  of  Mazeppa 
must  have  left  with  you.  But  the  harder  your  task,  the 
warmer  my  thanks." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"MAIDANOVO,  December  gth  (2ist),  1885. 
"  I  am  going  to  Moscow  on  December  I4th  (26th),  prin- 
cipally to  decide  the  fate  of  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane.  I  shall 
make  heroic  efforts  to  have  my  opera  produced.  I  am 
advised  to  conduct  it  myself,  and  it  is  possible  I  may 
decide  to  do  so.  In  any  case,  I  shall  spend  the  holidays 
in  Petersburg.  ...  I  am  working  very  hard  at  the  correc- 
tions of  Manfred.  I  am  still  convinced  it  is  my  best 
work.  Meanwhile  The  Enchantress  is  laid  aside,  but  the 
first  act  is  quite  finished.  The  libretto  is  splendid.  In  this 
I  am  lucky." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
''MAIDANOVO,  December  nth  (23^,  1885. 

"...  My  Third  Suite  was  played  at  the  last  concert. 
The  public  gave  me  an  enthusiastic  ovation.  .  .  .  Lately 
we  have  had  such  lovely  moonlight  nights,  without  a 
breath  of  wind.  O  God,  how  beautiful  they  are !  The 
Russian  winter  has  a  particular  charm  for  me,  but  that 
does  not  prevent  me  from  planning  a  journey  to  Italy  in 

1  The  present  Professor  of  Composition  at  the  Moscow  Conservatoire  and 
Director  of  the  Private  Opera  in  Moscow. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  501 

the  spring.  I  am  thinking  of  going  by  sea  from  Naples 
to  Constantinople,  then  to  Batoum,  and  thence  by  train  to 
Tiflis  to  visit  my  brother  Anatol,  who  is  already  expecting 
me." 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 
"MAIDANOVO,  December  \\th  (23^),  1885. 

"...  Imagine  !  I  am  rejoicing  at  the  thought  of  hearing 
Beethoven's  First  Symphony.  I  had  no  suspicion  that 
I  liked  it  so  much.  The  reason  is  perhaps  that  it  is  so 
like  my  idol,  Mozart.  Remember  that  on  October  27th, 
1 887,  the  centenary  of  Don  Juan  will  be  celebrated." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"December  22nd  (January  yd\  1885. 

"...  I  have  only  just  now  been  able  to  consider  this 
question  of  Manfred,  of  Mackar,  and  the  fee,  and  this  is 
my  decision :  Even  were  Manfred  a  work  of  the  greatest 
genius,  it  would  still  remain  a  symphony  which,  on  account 
of  its  unusual  intricacy  and  difficulty,  would  only  be 
played  once  in  ten  years.  This  work  cannot  therefore 
bring  any  profit  either  to  you  or  Mackar.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  value  it  highly.  How  is  the  material  value  of 
such  a  work  to  be  decided  ?  I  may  be  wrong,  but  it  seems 
to  me  my  best  composition,  and  a  few  hundred  roubles 
would  not  repay  me  for  all  the  work  and  trouble  I  have 
put  into  it.  If  you  were  very  rich,  I  would  unhesitatingly 
demand  a  very  large  sum,  on  the  grounds  that  you  could 
recover  your  outlay  on  other  things — but  you  are  not  at 
all  rich.  As  for  Mackar — to  speak  frankly — I  am  greatly 
touched  by  his  cheerful  self-sacrifice,  for  certainly  he  can 
have  made  very  little  out  of  my  works  in  France.  After 
having  just  received  20,000  francs  from  him,  we  must  not 
show  ourselves  too  grasping,  especially  as  we  know  that 
there  is  not  much  to  be  made  out  of  Manfred? 

"  In  short,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  claim  nothing 
from  Mackar,  or  from  you,  and  have  already  told  him  this. 
I  tell  you  also,  so  that  you  should  not  demand  the  pro- 
mised thousand  francs  from  him.  The  demanding  of 
payment  for  restoration  of  his  copy — is  your  affair." 


502  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  January  i$th  (25^),  1886. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, —  .  .  .  This  time  I  have  not  brought 
back  any  pleasant  impressions  with  me  from  Petersburg. 
My  operas — I  do  not  know  why — have  not  been  given 
lately,  and  I  feel  this  the  more  bitterly  because,  owing  to 
the  unusual  success  of  Oniegin,  it  appears  that  the  Direc- 
tion has  been  urging  that  it  should  be  given  with  greater 
frequency.  The  new  symphony  Manfred  is  completely 
ignored,  for  no  preparations  for  its  production  are  being 
made.  In  all  this  I  do  not  recognise  any  enmity  towards 
me  personally,  for  in  truth  I  have  no  enemies,  but  a  kind 
of  contempt  which  is  a  little  wounding  to  my  artistic 
vanity.  Certainly  this  is  an  unfavourable  year  for  me. 
They  have  decided  not  to  give  Les  Caprices  cFOxane  in 
Moscow  this  season,  and  I  had  been  expecting  it  so 
impatiently ! 

"  I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you  to-day,  which  pleased  me 
very  much.  I  had  observed  that  here  in  Maidanovo  the 
village  children  are  constantly  idle  and  run  about  without 
any  occupation,  which  induced  me  to  consult  with  the 
local  priest  about  the  founding  of  a  school.  This  has 
proved  to  be  possible,  so  long  as  I  assure  them  an 
annual  sum.  I  have  consented  to  do  so,  and  the  priest 
began  to  take  the  necessary  steps  about  two  months  ago. 
The  official  permission  to  open  a  school  has  arrived  and 
the  instruction  can  begin  this  week.  I  am  very  glad." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  January  14^(26^),  1886. 

"...  The  priest  came  to  see  me  to-day,  and  brought  me 
an  invitation  to  the  opening  of  the  school  on  the  I9th.  I 
am  proud  to  have  initiated  this  work.  I  hope  some  good 
will  come  of  it.  In  spite  of  the  greatest  care  and  modera- 
tion, I  suffer  from  dyspepsia.  It  is  not  serious,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  a  cure  at  Vichy  will  completely  set  me  up." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  503 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"Moscow,  February  tfh  (idth),  1886. 

"  How  difficult  it  is  after  receiving  your  money  to  say  in 
the  baldest  way, (  Money  received,  many  thanks  ! '  If  only 
you  had  an  inkling  of  all  the  happiness  I  owe  you,  and  the 
whole  meaning  of  that  '  independence  and  freedom '  which 
are  the  result  of  my  liberty.  Life  is  an  unbroken  chain  of 
little  unpleasantnesses  and  collision  with  human  egoism 
and  pride,  and  only  he  can  rise  above  these  things  who 
is  free  and  independent.  How  often  do  I  say  to  myself: 
Well  that  it  is  so,  but  how  if  it  were  otherwise  ? 

"Just  lately  I  had  some  very  unpleasant  frictions  which 
only  just  fell  short  of  open  quarrels,  but  failed  to  upset 
me  because  I  could  appear  to  ignore  the  wrong  inflicted 
upon  me.  Yes,  in  the  last  few  years  of  my  life  there 
have  been  many  occasions  on  which  I  have  sincerely  felt 
the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe  to  you.  And  yet  I  usually 
send  you  the  receipt  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course.  My 
gratitude  has  no  limits,  my  dear." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  6th  (i8M),  1886. 

".  .  .  .  To-day  I  returned  from  Moscow,  where  I  have 
been  attending  Rubinstein's  concerts  once  a  week.  Were 
it  only  a  question  of  listening  to  that  marvellous  pianist, 
I  should  not  have  found  the  journeys  at  all  tedious, 
in  spite  of  my  dislike  of  leaving  home.  But  I  had  to 
go  to  all  the  dinners  and  suppers  which  were  held  in  his 
honour,  which  I  generally  found  intolerably  wearisome 
and  most  injurious  to  my  health.  At  the  last  concert 
Rubinstein  played  pieces  by  Henselt,  Thalberg,  Liszt,  and 
others.  There  was  very  little  artistic  choice,  but  the 
performance  was  indeed  astonishing." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  \^th  (z6th\  1886. 

".  .  .  .  The  festival  which  the  town  of  Moscow  held 
in  Rubinstein's  honour  was  a  great  success.  He  was 


$04  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

visibly  touched  by  the  energy  and  warmth  with  which 
the  Muscovites  expressed  their  affection  for  him.  Indeed, 
everyone  must  recognise  that  Rubinstein  is  worthy  of  all 
such  honour.  He  is  not  only  a  gifted  artist,  but  also 
a  most  honourable  and  generous  man." 

Diary. 

"MAIDANOVO,  February  22ftd  (March  8/^),  1886. 
"What  an  unfathomable  gulf  lies  between  the  Old 
and  the  New  Testament !  Read  the  psalms  of  David,  and 
at  first  it  is  impossible  to  understand  why  they  have  taken 
such  a  high  place  from  an  artistic  point  of  view ;  and, 
secondly,  why  they  should  stand  beside  the  Gospels. 
David  is  altogether  of  this  world.  He  divides  the  whole 
of  humanity  into  two  unequal  portions  :  sinners  (to  which 
belong  the  greatest  number)  and  the  righteous,  at  whose 
head  he  places  himself.  In  every  psalm  he  calls  down 
God's  wrath  upon  the  sinner  and  His  praise  upon  the 
righteous ;  yet  the  reward  and  the  punishment  are  both 
worldly.  The  sinners  shall  be  undone,  and  the  righteous 
shall  enjoy  all  the  good  things  of  this  earthly  life.  How 
little  that  agrees  with  Christ's  teaching,  who  prayed  for 
His  enemies,  and  promised  the  good  no  earthly  wealth, 
but  rather  the  kingdom  of  heaven  !  What  touching  love 
and  compassion  for  mankind  lies  in  these  words  :  '  Come 
unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden ' !  In 
comparison  with  these  simple  words  all  the  psalms  of 
David  are  as  nothing." 

Diary. 
"February  2%th  (March  i2th\  1886. 

".  .  .  .  At  tea  I  read  through  Alexis  Tolstoi's  St.  John 
Chrysostom  •  and  The  Sinner •,  which  reduced  me  to  tears. 
While  in  this  agitation  of  spirit,  into  which  any  strong 
artistic  enjoyment  throws  me,  I  received  a  telegram  from 
the  Conservatoire :  '  The  Grand  Duke  is  coming.'  So 
all  plans  go  to  the  devil !  Despair,  irresolution,  and  even 
terror  at  the  prospect  of  the  journey.  Went  in  and 
fed  my  landlady's  hungry  dog.  In  the  twilight  I  was 
overcome  with  insane  depression.  Played  through  my 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  505 

Second  Suite,  and  was  glad  to  find  it  not  so  bad  as  I  had 
imagined." 

Diary. 

"  March  ist  (13^),  1886. 

".....  Played  through  Nero,  and  cannot  sufficiently 
marvel  at  the  audacious  coolness  of  the  composer.  The 
very  sight  of  the  score  makes  me  fume.  However,  I  only 
play  this  abomination  because  the  sense  of  my  superiority 
— at  least,  as  regards  conscientiousness — strengthens  my 
energy.  I  believe  I  compose  badly,  but  when  I  come 
across  such  an  atrocity,  written  in  all  earnestness,  I  feel 
a  certain  relief.  I  am  ashamed  to  show  so  much  anger 
over  such  a  publication — but  there  is  no  need  to  disguise 
one's  feelings  in  a  diary." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  March  i^th  (25^),  1886. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  not  written  to  you  for  a  long 
time  owing  to  a  ten  days'  visit  to  Moscow.  ...  I  devoted 
two  days  to  the  rehearsal  of  Manfred,  and  attended  the 
concert  at  which  it  was  played.  I  am  quite  satisfied  ;  I 
am  sure  it  is  my  best  symphonic  work.  The  performance 
was  excellent,  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  public  were  un- 
intelligent and  cold,  although  they  gave  me  quite  an 
ovation  at  the  end.  .  .  ." 

The  very  short  and  sparse  Press  notices  of  Manfred 
add  nothing  essential  to  Tchaikovsky's  words.  They 
merely  confirm  the  fact  that  the  Symphony  received  an 
excellent  rendering,  but  the  author's  high  opinion  of  his 
work  only  held  good  as  regards  the  first  two  movements ; 
later  on  he  came  to  reckon  the  other  movements,  the 
Pastorale,  Ariman's  Kingdom,  and  Manfred's  Death,  as 
being  on  a  level  with  The  Oprichnik,  one  of  the  least 
favoured  of  his  works. 

Although  out  of  chronological  order,  I  may  mention 
here  that  on  the  occasion  of  a  performance  of  this  work 
in  Petersburg  (December,  1886)  Cui  gave  it  the  most 


506  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

enthusiastic  and  unreserved  praise.  Everything  pleased 
him,  especially  the  Scherzo,  and  his  criticism  closed  with 
these  words  :  "  We  must  be  grateful  to  Tchaikovsky  for 
having  enriched  the  treasury  of  our  national  symphonic 


VIII 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

11  TIFLIS,  April  \st  (13^),  1886. 

"...  I  left  Moscow  on  March  23rd  (April  4th),  and 
travelled  direct  to  Taganrog  to  Hyppolite,  whose  guest  I 
was  for  two  days,  so  as  to  arrive  in  Vladikavkas  on  the 
28th. 

"  Early  on  Sunday  (3Oth)  I  started  in  a  four-horse  post- 
carriage,  accompanied  by  a  guard,  whose  sole  duty  is  to 
look  after  the  requirements  and  comforts  of  the  travellers. 
I  had  not  slept  the  preceding  night  on  account  of  the 
horrible  bed  and  the  insects  (when  I  think  of  the  best  hotel 
in  Vladikavkas  I  feel  quite  sick),  and  thought  therefore 
that  the  beauties  of  the  Georgian  Road  would  make  but 
little  impression  on  me.  The  road  is,  however,  so  grand, 
so  astonishingly  beautiful,  that  I  never  thought  of  sleeping 
the  whole  day  long.  The  variety  of  impressions  did  not 
allow  my  interest  to  flag  for  a  moment.  At  first  the 
approach  to  the  mountains  was  slow,  although  they 
appeared  to  be  quite  close  to  us,  and  yet  we  still  drove  on 
and  on.  Then  the  valley  of  the  Terek  became  narrower, 
and  we  reached  the  wild  and  gloomy  Darjal  Gorge. 
Afterwards  we  ascended  into  the  region  of  snow.  Shortly 
before  I  started  on  my  journey  there  had  been  an 
avalanche,  and  hundreds  of  miserable-looking  natives 
were  busy  shovelling  away  the  snow.  At  last  we  were 
driving  higher  and  higher  between  great  snow  walls,  and 
it  was  necessary  to  put  on  our  furs.  By  six  o'clock  we 
were  descending  into  the  Aragva  Valley,  and  spent  the 
night  in  Mlety.  I  occupied  the  imperial  rooms.  After  the 
dirt  of  the  Vladikavkas  hotel  I  found  the  clean  rooms, 
good  beds,  and  daintily-set  table  very  delightful.  I  dined, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  507 

took  a  little  walk  by  moonlight  in  the  gallery,  and  went 
to  bed  at  nine  o'clock.  Next  morning  I  started  off  again. 
Already  we  could  feel  the  breath  of  the  south  in  the  air ; 
the  sides  of  the  mountains  were  cultivated,  and  constantly 
there  came  in  sight  picturesque  aouli1  and  all  kinds  of 
dwellings.  The  descent  was  made  at  a  terrific  pace,  con- 
sidering the  curves  of  the  road.  Not  far  from  Dushet 
such  a  wonderful  view  came  in  sight  that  I  almost  wept 
with  delight.  The  further  we  descended,  the  more  the 
influence  of  the  south  wind  was  felt.  At  last  we  reached 
Mtskhet  (noted  for  the  ruins  of  its  castle  and  the  cele- 
brated cathedral),  and  at  half-past  five  we  reached  Tiflis. 
Toly  and  his  wife  were  not  there ;  they  had  not  expected 
me  till  later,  and  had  gone  to  meet  me  at  Mtskhet.  They 
did  not  arrive  till  eight  o'clock.  Meanwhile  I  had  had 
time  to  wash,  dress,  and  see  something  of  the  town.  It  is 
delightful.  The  trees  are  not  yet  all  green  ;  the  fruit  trees 
are  in  full  blossom  ;  a  mass  of  flowers  in  the  gardens.  It 
is  as  warm  as  in  June — in  a  word,  really  spring — just  as  it 
was  four  years  ago  when  we  left  Naples.  The  chief  streets 
are  very  lively ;  splendid  shops,  and  quite  a  European  air. 
But  when  I  came  to  the  native  quarters  I  found  myself  in 
entirely  new  surroundings.  The  streets  mean  and  narrow, 
as  in  Venice;  on  both  sides  an  endless  row  of  small 
booths  and  all  kinds  of  workshops,  where  the  natives 
squat  and  work  before  the  eyes  of  the  passers-by.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  TIFLIS,  April  6th  (i8M),  1886. 

"  I  begin  to  know  Tiflis  quite  well  already,  and  have  seen 
the  sights.  I  have  been  in  the  baths,  built  in  Oriental 
style.  Visited  the  celebrated  churches,  amongst  others 
the  Armenian  church,  where  I  was  not  only  very  much 
interested  in  the  peculiarities  of  the  service,  but  also  in 
the  singing ;  I  also  visited  David's  monastery  on  the  hill, 
where  Griboiedov2  lies  buried.  One  evening  I  went  to  a 
concert  given  by  the  Musical  Society,  where  a  very  poor, 
thin  orchestra  played  Beethoven's  Third  Symphony, 

1  Caucasian  villages. 

2  The  celebrated  Russian  dramatist. 


508  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Borodin's  Steppes,  and  my  Serenade  for  strings,  to  a  public 
which  was  conspicuous  by  its  absence.  Many  excellent 
musicians  live  in  Tiflis ;  the  most  prominent  are  the 
talented  composer  Ippolitov-Ivanov  and  the  pianist  Eugene 
Korganov,  an  Armenian,  and  a  former  student  of  the 
Moscow  Conservatoire.  They  show  me  every  attention, 
and  although  I  should  much  prefer  to  remain  incognito,  I 
am  much  touched  by  this  proof  of  the  love  and  sympathy 
of  my  fellow- workers.  I  had  certainly  not  expected  to 
find  my  music  so  widely  known  in  Tiflis.  My  operas  are 
played  oftener  here  than  anywhere  else,  and  I  am  pleased 
that  Mazeppa  is  such  a  great  favourite." 

Diary. 

"  TIFLIS,  April  nth  (23^,  1886. 

"  While  waiting  for  Korganov  I  busied  myself  with 
looking  through  his  works.  He  came  first,  then  Ippolitov- 
Ivanov.  The  poor  Armenian  (a  very  nice  man  and  a 
good  musician)  was  very  grieved  at  my  criticism.  Then 
Ivanov  played  his  things  :  very  good." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  TIFLIS,  April  2yd  (May  $th\  1886. 

"  MODI, — I  only  remain  a  few  days  longer  in  Tiflis.  I 
could  count  this  month  the  happiest  in  my  life,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  visitors,  and  for  my  social  existence.  I  do  not 
think  I  have  yet  written  to  you  of  the  honour  paid  me  on 
the  ipth.  It  was  simply  splendid.  At  eight  o'clock, 
accompanied  by  Pani,1  I  entered  the  Director's  box,  which 
was  decorated  with  flowers  and  foliage.  The  whole  theatre 
rose,  and  amid  great  applause  I  was  presented  with  a  silver 
wreath  and  many  others.  A  deputation  from  the  Musical 
Society  read  an  address.  Then  the  concert  began,  which 
consisted  entirely  of  my  works.  There  were  endless 
cheers !  I  have  never  experienced  anything  like  it  before. 
After  the  concert,  a  subscription  supper,  with  many  toasts. 
A  most  exhausting  evening,  but  a  glorious  remembrance." 

1  Anatol's  wife. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  509 

This  was  the  first  great  honour  in  Tchaikovsky's  life,  and 
made  a  most  agreeable  impression  on  him,  as  proving  the 
recognition  of  his  merit  by  the  Russian  nation.  Tchai- 
kovsky, in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  was  well  aware  that 
fame  would  eventually  come,  and  that  he  would  be  worthy 
of  it.  He  did  not  realise,  however,  that  what  he  had 
already  created  was  as  worthy  of  fame  as  what  he  should 
create  in  the  future.  He  knew,  indeed,  that  the  popularity 
of  his  name  had  greatly  increased  in  the  last  few  years, 
but  he  was  still  far  from  suspecting  the  truth.  The  honour 
paid  him  in  Tiflis  revealed  to  him  his  real  relation  to  the 
Russian  public.  This  revelation  was  so  pleasing  to  his 
artistic  vanity  that  it  overcame  for  a  moment  his  character- 
istic timidity  and  his  dislike  of  posing  before  the  public. 


IX 

Just  at  this  time  Tchaikovsky  had  to  travel  to  Paris  on 
important  family  business.  He  wished  also  to  take  this 
opportunity  of  making  acquaintance  with  his  Paris  pub- 
lisher, Mackar.  To  avoid  the  fatigue  of  the  wearisome 
railway  journey,  he  thought  of  taking  the  steamer  from 
Batoum  to  Italy,  thence  by  train  to  France.  But  owing 
to  cholera  at  Naples,  the  French  steamer  belonging  to  the 
Batoum-Marseilles  line  did  not  call  at  the  Italian  port. 
Tchaikovsky  therefore  gave  up  his  idea  of  visiting  Italy, 
and  took  a  through  ticket  for  Marseilles  by  one  of  the 
steamers  of  the  "  Packet  Company." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 
"STEAMSHIP  'ARMENIA/  May  yd(i$tfi)t  1886. 

"...  I  am  feeling  less  home-sick  to-day,  and  better 
able  to  enjoy  the  sea,  the  mountains,  and  the  sun  .  .  .  but 
how  stupid  it  is,  that  one  can  only  be  alone  in  one's  cabin  ! 
On  deck,  scarcely  a  quarter  of  an  hour  passes  without 


5io  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

someone  beginning  a  conversation.  I  know  all  the  pas- 
sengers already,  but  have  not  taken  to  anyone.  The 
captain  talks  to  me  about  music,  and  enrages  me  by  his 
stupid  opinions.  A  Frenchman,  a  doctor  from  Trebizond, 
also  sets  up  to  be  a  lover  of  music,  and  thinks  it  his  duty 
— now  he  has  discovered  I  am  a  musician — to  talk  to  me 
about  this  detestable  art,  which  seems  to  possess  the  quality 
of  interesting  everybody.  .  .  ." 

To  A.  Tchaikovsky. 

"ARCHIPELAGO,  May  6th  (i8/#),  1886. 

"  The  day  before  yesterday,  about  midday,  we  reached 
the  Bosphorus  in  the  most  glorious  weather.  It  is  wonder- 
fully beautiful,  and  the  further  one  goes  the  more  beautiful 
it  becomes.  About  three  o'clock  we  arrived  at  Constanti- 
nople. The  motion  was  very  great  during  the  passage 
into  the  harbour.  About  five  o'clock  we  got  into  a  boat, 
and  were  rowed  over  to  the  town.  The  captain  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  stay  twenty-four  hours  in  Constantinople, 
so  I  thought  I  would  spend  the  night  at  an  hotel.  The 
next  day  I  visited  the  places  of  interest.  The  cathedral 
of  St.  Sophia  delighted  and  astonished  me.  But,  on  the 
whole,  I  do  not  much  care  for  Constantinople,  and  the 
famous  Constantinople  dogs  simply  make  me  feel  sick. 
By  5  p.m.  we  were  once  more  on  board,  and  started 
immediately.  New  passengers  had  joined  the  ship.  I  pre- 
ferred to  remain  in  my  own  snug  little  cabin ;  the  whole 
evening  I  watched  the  water  and  the  moonlight,  and 
absorbed  all  the  poetry  of  a  sea  journey.  To-day  is  a 
little  rougher.  Many  are  ill — even  men.  I  am  quite  well, 
and  find  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  motion,  and  in  watching 
the  foaming  blue  waves.  No  trace  of  fear.  I  am  quite 
accustomed  to  my  surroundings,  and  have  made  friends 
with  everyone,  especially  a  Turkish  officer,  who  is  travel- 
ling to  Paris." 

To  M.   Tchaikovsky. 

"'ARMENIA/  May  %th(2Qth\  1886. 

"...  To-day  the  sea  is  just  like  a  mirror.  So  far  we 
have  been  very  lucky,  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  511 

anything  more  beautiful  than  such  a  journey.  Of  course 
there  are  some  wearisome  moments,  especially  when  they 
begin  to  talk  of  music.  The  chief  offender  is  an  English- 
man, who  continually  bothers  me  with  questions  as  to 
whether  I  like  this  or  that  song  by  Tosti,  Denza,  etc. 
Also  a  French  doctor,  who  has  invented  a  new  piano  in 
which  every  sign  for  transposition  ($,  bv  x ,  W)  has  its  own 
keynote.  He  talks  incessantly  of  his  awful  invention, 
and  gives  me  long  pamphlets  on  the  subject.  We  have 
already  passed  Sicily  and  the  heel  of  the  Italian  boot. 
Etna  is  smoking  a  little,  and  to  the  left  there  is  a  horrible 
pillar  of  smoke  and  fire  which  excites  us  all  very  much. 
The  captain  cannot  say  for  certain  what  it  means,  and 
seems  somewhat  disturbed  by  it.  Consequently  I,  too, 
feel  a  little  afraid." 


To  A.   Tchaikovsky. 

"'ARMENIA/  May  tfh  (zist),   1886. 

"  The  pillar  of  smoke  and  fire  about  which  I  wrote 
yesterday  proves  to  be  a  terrible  eruption  of  Mount  Etna, 
not  at  the  top,  but  at  the  side.  This  eruption  was  dis- 
tinctly visible  at  a  distance  of  three  hundred  versts,  and 
the  nearer  we  came  the  more  interesting  was  the  sight. 
Alexis  woke  me  at  two  in  the  morning,  that  I  might  see 
this  unique  spectacle.  We  were  in  the  Straits  of  Messina  ; 
the  sea,  which  had  been  quite  calm  all  day,  was  now  very 
rough ;  I  cannot  describe  the  beauties  of  the  moonlight, 
the  fire  from  Mount  Etna,  and  the  swelling  waves.  At 
3  a.m.  I  went  back  to  bed  and  at  five  the  captain  sent 
a  sailor  to  wake  me,  so  that  I  might  see  the  town  of 
Messina,  the  sunrise,  and  the  eruption  on  the  other  side. 
Later  we  passed  between  the  volcano  Stromboli  and  a  new 
little  island  giving  forth  smoke ;  at  least,  the  captain,  who 
knows  these  parts  well,  has  never  suspected  a  volcano  here 
and  thinks  it  may  portend  a  serious  eruption.  To-day 
the  weather  is  splendid  and  the  sea  much  quieter." 


512  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Diary. 
"PARIS,  May  2ist  (June  zntf),  1886. 

"  I  decided  to  go  and  see  Mackar.  What  I  suffered,  and 
how  excited  I  was,  passes  description.  Ten  times  I  tried 
to  go  in,  and  always  turned  away  again — even  a  large  glass 
of  absinthe  did  not  help  me.  At  last  I  went.  He  was 
expecting  me.  I  had  pictured  him  a  little  man  like  Wuchs. 
He  is  astonishingly  like  Bessel.  We  talked  a  little  (some- 
one near  me  was  buying  my  works),  and  then  I  left. 
Naturally  I  felt  a  weight  off  my  heart." 

To  P.  V.  Tchaikovsky.1 

"  PARIS,  June  ist  (i$th\  1886. 

"...  Yesterday  I  had  breakfast  with  old  Madam  Viar- 
dot  She  is  such  a  stately  and  interesting  woman  ;  I  was 
quite  enchanted.  Although  seventy,  she  only  looks  about 
forty.  She  is  very  lively,  amiable,  gay,  and  sociable, 
and  knew  how  to  make  me  feel  at  home  from  the  very 
first  moment." 

Later  Tchaikovsky  wrote  the  following  details  to  Na- 
dejda  von  Meek  concerning  his  acquaintance  with  Madame 
Viardot : — 

"...  Madame  Viardot  often  speaks  about  Tourgeniev, 
and  described  to  me  how  he  and  she  wrote  '  The  Song  of 
Love  Triumphant'  together.  Have  I  already  told  you 
that  I  was  with  her  for  two  hours  while  we  went  through 
the  original  score  of  Mozart's  Don  Juan,  which  thirty 
years  ago  her  husband  had  picked  up  very  cheaply  and 
quite  by  accident  ?  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  felt  at  the 
sight  of  this  musical  relic.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  shaken  Mozart 
by  the  hand  and  spoken  to  him  !  .  .  ." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"June  2$rd(\\th\  1886. 

"Yesterday,  at  the  invitation  of  Ambrose  Thomas,  I 
visited  the  Conservatoire  during  the  examination  of  the 

1  Anatol's  wife. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  513 

pianoforte  class.  He  is  a  very  nice,  friendly  old  man.  A 
certain  Madame  Bohomoletz,  a  rich  lady  (half  Russian), 
gave  a  dinner  in  my  honour,  followed  by  a  musical  evening, 
at  which  my  quartet  was  played  (Marsick  and  Brandoukov) 
and  my  songs  were  sung.  .  .  .  Leo  Delibes  has  visited  me ; 
this  touched  me  very  deeply.  Certainly  it  seems  I  am 
not  as  unknown  in  Paris  as  I  thought.  .  .  ." 

I  will  add  to  this  short  and  disjointed  account  that 
Tchaikovsky  was  received  in  a  most  friendly  manner 
by  Professor  Marmontel,  a  warm  admirer  of  his  works, 
also  by  the  composers  Lalo,  Lefebre,  Faure,  and  others. 
The  meeting  with  Colonne  and  Lamoureux  is  described 
by  Tchaikovsky  himself  in  a  later  letter  : — 

"...  I  saw  Colonne  several  times.  He  was  very 
friendly,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  give  a  concert  of  my 
compositions.  He  asked  me  to  send  him  some  of  my 
new  scores  to  Aix-les-Bains,  so  that  he  could  arrange  a 
programme  during  the  course  of  the  summer.  He  con- 
tinually lamented  his  poverty  and  the  '  terrible  Concurrence 
Lamoureux.'  As  to  Lamoureux,  he  was  amiability  itself, 
and  made  me  a  thousand  promises." 

Tchaikovsky  was  thrown  into  close  contact  with  many 
other  artists,  several  of  whom,  like  the  well-known  pianist 
Diemer,  for  instance,  remained  his  devoted  friends  to  the 
end. 

X 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  June  iStfi  (30^),  1886. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  be  at  home  once  more !  How  dear 
and  cosy  is  my  little  house  which,  when  I  left,  lay  deep  in 
snow,  and  is  now  surrounded  by  foliage  and  flowers !  The 
three  months  I  spent  abroad  were  lost  time  as  regards 
work,  but  I  feel  I  have  gained  in  strength,  and  can  now 
devote  my  whole  time  to  it  without  exhausting  myself." 

2  L 


514  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Diary'      "futy  Sffi  (2oM),  1886. 

"...  Worked  atrociously  again.  And  yet  people  say 
I  am  a  genius !  Nonsense ! " 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

" MAIDANOVO,  July  \^th  (31^),  1886. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND,— I  completely  understand  the  difficul- 
ties of  your  situation.  One  of  my  letters  to  you  is  wanted 
for  publication.  You  possess  hundreds  of  my  letters,  but 
not  one  suitable  to  the  case.  Very  natural ;  our  corre- 
spondence was  either  too  business-like,  or  too  intimate. 
How  can  I  help  you?  I  cannot  commit  forgery,  even 
for  the  pleasure  of  appearing  in  Mme.  La  Mara's  book  ; 1 
I  cannot  write  a  letter  especially  for  her  collection  and 
take  this  lucky  opportunity  of  displaying  myself  in  the 
most  favourable  light  as  musician,  thinker,  and  man. 
Such  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  European  fame  is  re- 
pugnant to  me,  although,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  be 
false  to  say  that  Mme.  La  Mara's  wish  to  place  me  among 
the  prominent  musicians  of  our  time  did  not  flatter  me  in 
the  least.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  deeply  touched 
and  pleased  by  the  attention  of  the  well-known  authoress, 
and  openly  confess  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be  included 
in  the  company  of  Glinka,  Dargomijsky,  and  Serov.  If 
she  were  not  in  such  a  hurry,  it  would  be  better  to  send  to 
one  of  my  musical  friends,  such  as  Laroche,  who  could 
not  fail  to  find  among  all  my  letters  some  with  detailed 
effusions  about  my  musical  likes  and  dislikes ;  in  short,  a 
letter  in  which  I  speak  quite  candidly  as  a  musician.  But 
there  is  no  time,  and  Laroche  is  away.  Is  it  not  curious 
that  it  should  be  difficult  to  find  a  suitable  letter  from  a 
man  who  has  carried  on — and  still  carries  on — the  widest 
correspondence,  dealing  not  only  with  business  matters, 
but  with  artistic  work?  I  am  continually  exchanging 
letters  with  four  brothers,  a  sister,  several  cousins,  and 
many  friends,  besides  a  quantity  of  casual  correspondence 

1  The  authoress  of  the  well-known  works,  Musikalische  Studienkopfe  and 
Musik  Briefe  aus fiinf  Jahrhunderten.  Tchaikovsky's  letter  appears  in  the 
second  volume  of  the  latter. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  515 

with  people  often  unknown  to  me.  The  necessity  of 
sacrificing  so  much  of  my  time  to  letter-writing  is  such  a 
burden  to  me  that,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  curse 
all  the  postal  arrangements  in  the  world.  The  post  often 
causes  me  sad  moments,  but  it  also  brings  me  the  greatest 
joy.  One  person  plays  the  chief  part  in  the  story  of  the 
last  ten  years  of  my  life :  she  is  my  good  genius ;  to  her 
I  owe  all  my  prosperity  and  the  power  to  devote  myself 
to  my  beloved  work.  Yet  I  have  never  seen  her,  never 
heard  her  voice ;  all  my  intercourse  with  her  is  through 
the  post.  I  can  certainly  say  I  flood  the  world  with  my 
correspondence,  and  yet  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  help 
you  out  of  your  difficulty. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done,  but  to  send  this  letter 
itself  to  Mme.  La  Mara.  If  it  does  not  represent  me  in 
the  least  as  a  musician,  it  will  at  any  rate  give  the  authoress 
a  chance  of  satisfying  her  flattering  wish  to  place  me 
among  the  prominent  musicians  of  the  day." 

Diary. 

"  August  ist  (i$th),  1886. 

"...  Played  Manon  at  home.  It  pleased  me  better 
than  I  expected.  I  spent  moments  of  longing  and  loneli- 
ness." 

"  August  2nd  (i^th). 

"...  Played  Manon.  To-day  Massenet  seems  to  cloy 
with  sweetness." 

"  August  tfh  (i6M). 

"...  Played  Massenet  at  home.  How  stale  he  has 
grown !  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  in  this  staleness  I  trace 
a  certain  affinity  to  myself." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  August  ^th  (16^),  1886. 

"...  I  feel  at  my  best  when  I  am  alone ;  when  trees, 
flowers,  and  books  take  the  place  of  human  society.  O 
God,  how  short  life  is !  How  much  I  have  yet  to  accom- 
plish before  it  is  time  to  leave  off !  How  many  projects  ! 


5i6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

When  I  am  quite  well — as  I  am  at  present — I  am  seized 
with  a  feverish  thirst  for  work,  but  the  thought  of  the 
shortness  of  human  life  paralyses  all  my  energy.  It  was 
not  always  so.  I  used  to  believe  I  could,  and  must,  carry 
out  all  my  ideas  to  completion  ;  therefore  my  impulses 
towards  creative  work  were  then  more  lasting  and  more 
fruitful.  In  any  case  I  hope  to  have  the  outline  of  the 
opera  (The  Enchantress)  ready  in  a  month's  time,  and 
then  to  begin  the  orchestration." 

Diary. 

"August  6th  (i8/>&),  1886. 

"  Played  the  conclusion  of  the  sickly  Manon  and 
Lefebre's  inanities  to  the  end." 

"August  i$tA  (27 tA). 

".  .  .  Worked  a  little  before  and  after  supper.  Kouma's 
Arioso  is  finished.  Read  Loti's  Pecheurs  d'Islande.  Not 
very  pleased  with  it.  The  tone  of  the  descriptions  remind 
me  of  that  .  .  .  Zola  and  .  .  ." 

"August  iStA  (zoth). 

"Walked  in  the  garden.  Worked  and  completely 
finished  the  rough  sketches  for  the  opera.  Thank  God  !" 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
"MAIDANOVA,  September,  gth  (21st),  1886. 

"...  I  have  been  all  through  Vietinghov-Scheel's 
opera.  Good  heavens !  what  a  weak  piece  of  work ! 
He  is  a  child,  and  no  mature  artist.  It  is  a  shame  such 
a  work  should  be  given  at  the  Imperial  Opera.  However, 
in  this  way  the  Direction  have  done  Rubinstein  a  great 
service.  His  Demon  appears  a  masterpiece  in  comparison 
with  that  little  Scheel  affair.  To  tell  the  truth,  at  present 
the  best  operas  in  the  world  are  composed  by  P.  I.  Tchai- 
kovsky, and  The  Enchantress  is  the  most  beautiful  of  them 
all.  A  gem  all  round.  At  least  so  it  appears  to  me  at 
this  moment.  Probably  it  appears  to  Vietinghov  that 
his  Tamara  is  far  more  beautiful ;  and  God  alone  knows 
which  of  us  is  right." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY      •     517 

Diary. 
"September  2oth  (October  2nd],  1886. 

"  Tolstoi  never  speaks  with  love  and  enthusiasm  of  any 
prophet  of  Truth  (with  the  exception  of  Christ),  but 
rather  with  contempt  and  hatred.  We  do  not  know  how 
he  regards  Socrates,  Shakespeare,  or  Gogol.  We  do  not 
know  if  he  cares  for  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael, 
Tourgeniev,  George  Sand,  Dickens  and  Flaubert.  Perhaps 
his  sympathies  and  antipathies  in  the  sphere  of  philosophy 
and  art  are  known  to  his  intimates,  but  this  inspired  talker 
has  never  openly  let  fall  a  word  which  could  enlighten  us 
as  to  his  attitude  towards  those  great  spirits  who  are  on 
an  equality  with  him.  For  instance,  he  has  told  me  that 
Beethoven  had  no  talent  (as  compared  with  Mozart),  but 
he  has  never  expressed  himself  in  writing  either  on 
music  or  any  kindred  subject.  Truly  I  think  this  man 
inclines  only  before  God  or  the  people,  before  humanity 
as  a  whole.  There  is  no  individual  before  whom  he  would 
bow  down.  Suitaiev  was  not  an  individual  in  Tolstoi's 
eyes,  but  the  people  itself,  the  personified  wisdom  of  the 
people.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  this  giant 
liked  or  disliked  in  literature. 

"  Probably  after  my  death  it  will  be  of  some  interest  to 
the  world  to  hear  of  my  musical  predilections  and  preju- 
dices, the  more  so  that  I  have  never  expressed  them  by 
word  of  mouth. 

"  I  will  begin  by  degrees,  and  when  touching  upon  con- 
temporary musicians  I  shall  also  speak  of  their  person- 
alities. 

"  To  begin  with  Beethoven,  whom  I  praise  uncondition- 
ally, and  to  whom  I  bend  as  to  a  god.  But  what  is 
Beethoven  to  me?  I  bow  down  before  the  grandeur  of 
some  of  his  creations,  but  I  do  not  love  Beethoven.  My 
relationship  to  him  reminds  me  of  that  which  I  felt  in  my 
childhood  to  the  God  Jehovah.  I  feel  for  him — for  my 
sentiments  are  still  unchanged — great  veneration,  but  also 
fear.  He  has  created  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  and 
although  I  fall  down  before  him,  I  do  not  love  him. 
Christ,  on  the  contrary,  calls  forth  exclusively  the  feeling 


5i8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  love.  He  is  God,  but  also  Man.  He  has  suffered  like 
ourselves.  We  pity  Him  and  love  in  Him  the  ideal  side 
of  man's  nature.  If  Beethoven  holds  an  analogous  place 
in  my  heart  to  the  God  Jehovah,  I  love  Mozart  as  the 
musical  Christ.  I  do  not  think  this  comparison  is  blasphe- 
mous. Mozart  was  as  pure  as  an  angel,  and  his  music  is 
full  of  divine  beauty. 

"  While  speaking  of  Beethoven  I  touch  on  Mozart.  To 
my  mind,  Mozart  is  the  culminating  point  of  all  beauty  in 
the  sphere  of  music.  He  alone  can  make  me  weep  and 
tremble  with  delight  at  the  consciousness  of  the  approach 
of  that  which  we  call  the  ideal.  Beethoven  makes  me 
tremble  too,  but  rather  from  a  sense  of  fear  and  yearning 
anguish.  I  do  not  understand  how  to  analyse  music,  and 
cannot  go  into  detail.  .  .  .  Still  I  must  mention  two 
facts.  I  love  Beethoven's  middle  period,  and  sometimes 
his  first;  but  I  really  hate  his  last,  especially  the  latest 
quartets.  They  have  only  brilliancy,  nothing  more.  The 
rest  is  chaos,  over  which  floats,  veiled  in  mist,  the  spirit  of 
this  musical  Jehovah. 

"  I  love  everything  in  Mozart,  for  we  love  everything  in 
the  man  to  whom  we  are  truly  devoted.  Above  all,  Don 
Juan,  for  through  that  work  I  have  learnt  to  know  what 
music  is.  Till  then  (my  seventeenth  year)  I  knew  nothing 
except  the  enjoyable  semi-music  of  the  Italians.  Although 
I  love  everything  in  Mozart,  I  will  not  assert  that  every 
one  of  his  works,  even  the  most  insignificant,  should  be 
considered  a  masterpiece.  I  know  quite  well  that  no 
single  example  of  his  Sonatas  is  a  great  creation,  and  yet 
I  like  each  one,  because  it  is  his,  because  he  has  breathed 
into  it  his  sacred  breath. 

"  As  to  the  forerunner  of  both  these  artists,  I  like  to  play 
Bach,  because  it  is  interesting  to  play  a  good  fugue;  but  I 
do  not  regard  him,  in  common  with  many  others,  as  a 
great  genius.  Handel  is  only  fourth-rate,  he  is  not  even 
interesting.  I  sympathise  with  Gliick  in  spite  of  his  poor 
creative  gift.  I  also  like  some  things  of  Haydn.  These 
four  great  masters  have  been  surpassed  by  Mozart.  They 
are  rays  which  are  extinguished  by  Mozart's  sun." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  519 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"September,  1886. 

"YOUR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS,— Permit  me  to  thank 
you  cordially  for  your  valued  present  and  your  sympathetic 
letter.  Very  highly  do  I  esteem  the  attention  of  which 
you  have  thought  me  worthy. 

"  I  only  regret,  your  Highness,  that  while  looking  for 
poems  for  my  songs  which  are  to  be  dedicated  to  her 
Majesty,  I  had  not  as  yet  the  pleasure  of  possessing  that 
charming  little  book  which,  thanks  to  your  flattering 
attention,  is  now  in  my  hands.  How  many  of  your  poems 
glow  with  that  warm  and  sincere  feeling  which  makes 
them  suitable  for  musical  setting!  When  I  read  your 
collection  of  verses  I  determined  at  once  to  select  some 
for  my  next  song-cycle,  and  to  dedicate  them,  with  your 
gracious  permission,  to  your  Highness.  I  should  be  much 
pleased  if  you  would  accept  this  dedication  as  the  expres- 
sion of  my  sincere  devotion." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  October  $th  (17^),  1886. 
"...  What  you  say  about  my  conducting  is  as  balm  to 
my  wounded  heart.  The  consciousness  of  my  inability  to 
conduct  has  been  a  torment  and  a  martyrdom  to  me  all 
my  life.  I  think  it  is  contemptible  and  shameful  to  have 
so  little  self-control  that  the  mere  thought  of  stepping 
into  the  conductor's  desk  makes  me  tremble  with  fright. 
This  time  too — although  I  have  already  promised  to  con- 
duct myself— I  feel  when  the  time  comes  my  courage  will 
vanish  and  I  shall  refuse." 

Diary. 

"MAIDANOVO,  October  ^th  (19^),  1886. 
"  Played  Brahms.  It  irritates  me  that  this  self-conscious 
mediocrity  should  be  recognised  as  a  genius.  In  com- 
parison with  him,  Raff  was  a  giant,  not  to  speak  of  Rubin- 
stein, who  was  a  much  greater  man.  And  Brahms  is  so 
chaotic,  so  dry  and  meaningless  ! " 


520  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


XI 

At  the  end  of  October  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Petersburg, 
to  be  present  at  the  first  performance  of  Napravnik's  opera, 
Harold.  But  as  the  performance  was  constantly  post- 
poned, he  finally  returned  to  Maidanovo  without  waiting 
for  it.  Nevertheless,  the  journey  was  not  without  results, 
for  Vsievolojsky,  Director  of  the  Imperial  Opera,  com- 
missioned Tchaikovsky  for  the  first  time  to  compose  a 
ballet.  Joukovsky's  Undine  was  chosen  as  a  subject. 

Judging  from  all  accounts,  this  visit  to  Petersburg  must 
have  convinced  Tchaikovsky  of  his  great  popularity  there. 
Not  only  did  he  meet  with  a  very  friendly  reception  from 
the  composers,  with  Rimsky-Korsakov  at  their  head,  but 
he  received  from  an  anonymous  well-wisher,  through  the 
medium  of  Stassov,  a  premium  of  500  roubles,  usually 
bestowed  on  the  best  musical  novelty  of  the  season,  judged 
in  this  instance  to  be  Manfred.  He  was  also  honoured 
by  a  brilliant  gathering  on  the  occasion  of  his  election  as 
honorary  member  of  the  St.  Petersburg  Chamber  Music 
Society, 

To  Rimsky-Korsakov. 

"  October  30^  (November  nth),  1886. 

"DEAR  NICHOLAS  ANDREIEVICH, — I  have  a  favour  to 
ask.  Arensky  is  now  quite  recovered,  although  I  find  him 
somewhat  depressed  and  agitated.  I  like  him  so  much 
and  wish  you  would  sometimes  take  an  interest  in  him, 
for,  as  regards  music,  he  venerates  you  more  than  anyone 
else.  The  best  way  of  doing  this  would  be  to  give  one 
of  his  works  at  one  of  your  next  concerts.  There,  where 
all  Russian  composers  find  a  place,  should  be  a  little 
room  for  Arensky,  who,  at  any  rate,  is  as  good  as  the  rest. 
But  as  you  would  not  like  to  offend  anyone,  I  propose 
that  you  should  put  one  of  Arensky's  works  in  the  pro- 
gramme of  your  fourth  concert  instead  of  my  Romeo  over- 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  521 

ture.  He  needs  stirring  up  ;  and  such  an  impulse  given 
by  you  would  count  for  so  much  with  him,  because  he 
loves  and  respects  you.  Please  think  it  over  and  grant  my 
wish.  Thereby  you  will  make  your  deeply  devoted  pupil 
(Arensky)  very  happy. 

"  In  conclusion,  I  must  add  that  your  'Spanish  Capriccio ' 
is  a  colossal  masterpiece  of  instrumentation ,  and  you  may 
regard  yourself  as  the  greatest  master  of  the  present  day." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
"Moscow,  November  \^th  (December  ist)y  1886. 

"...  I  arrived  in  Moscow  early  to-day.  There  has 
already  been  a  rehearsal.  I  was  ill  again  after  my  last 
letter  to  you.  This  time  I  was  so  bad  that  I  decided  to 
send  for  the  doctor.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  about  to 
have  a  strange  illness.  Suddenly  I  received  a  telegram 
saying  that  I  must  be  at  the  rehearsal.1  I  answered  that 
the  rehearsal  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  I  could  not 
travel.  But  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  I  suddenly  felt  so 
well  that — in  spite  of  terrible  disinclination — I  went  to 
Moscow.  Every  trace  of  headache,  which  for  ten  days 
had  so  affected  me,  vanished.  Is  not  this  a  curious  patho- 
logical case  ?  " 

To  A.  S.  Arensky. 
"November  2^th  (December  6th\  1886. 

"DEAR  FRIEND  ANTON  STEPANOVICH, — I  only  re- 
ceived your  welcome  letter  yesterday  ;  I  knew  already  from 
Taneiev  that  you  had  composed  Marguerite  Gautier  and 
dedicated  it  to  me.  Thank  you  cordially  for  this  dedica- 
tion. The  attention  and  honour  you  have  shown  me  touch 
me  deeply.  Marguerite  lies  beside  me  on  the  table,  and — 
in  my  free  moments,  which  are  not  many — I  cast  a  glance 
at  it  here  and  there,  with  much  interest  and  pleasure. 
Please  do  not  feel  hurt  that  I  did  not  write  you  my 
impressions  at  once.  At  the  first  glance  I  found  the  work 
very  interesting,  because  you  have  entirely  departed  from 
your  accustomed  style.  Marguerite  has  so  little  re- 
semblance to  the  Suite  and  the  Symphony  that  one  could 

1  Of  Cherevichek,  "The  Little  Shoes." 


$22  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

easily  suppose  it  came  from  the  pen  of  a  different  man. 
The  elegance  of  form,  harmony,  and  orchestration  are  the 
same,  but  the  character  of  the  theme  and  its  working  out 
are  quite  different.  Naturally  the  question  arises :  Is  it 
better  than  the  Symphony  and  the  Suite  ?  At  present  I 
cannot  answer." 

Although  somewhat  anticipating  my  narrative,  I  will 
insert  here  an  extract  from  a  later  letter  of  Tchaikovsky's, 
in  which  he  gives  Arensky  his  opinion  of  Marguerite 
Gautier. 

To  A.  Arensky. 

"  MAIDANOVO,  April  2nd  (14^),  1887. 

"DEAR  ANTON  STEPANOVICH,— I  wrote  to  you  in 
August  that  I  would  pronounce  judgment  on  Marguerite 
Gautier  as  soon  as  I  had  heard  the  work  and  had  leisure 
to  study  the  score.  I  held  it  all  the  more  my  duty  to  wait 
because,  although  I  value  your  talent  very  highly,  I  do 
not  like  your  Fantasia.  It  is  very  easy  to  praise  a  man 
who  is  highly  esteemed.  But  to  say  to  him : '  Not  beautiful ; 
I  do  not  like  it,'  without  basing  one's  judgment  on  a  full 
explanation,  is  very  difficult.  .  .  . 

"  I  must  state  my  opinion  briefly.  First  the  choice  of 
subject.  It  was  very  painful  and  mortifying  to  me,  and  to 
all  your  friends,  that  you  had  chosen  La  Dame  aux  Camelias 
as  the  subject  of  your  Fantasia.  How  can  an  educated 
musician — when  there  are  Homer,  Shakespeare,  Gogol, 
Poushkin,  Dante,  Tolstoi,  Lermontov,  and  others — feel  any 
interest  in  the  production  of  Dumas  fits,  which  has  for 
its  theme  the  history  of  a  demi-mondaine  adventuress 
which,  even  if  written  with  French  cleverness,  is  in  truth 
false,  sentimental,  and  vulgar  ?  Such  a  choice  might  be 
intelligible  in  Verdi,  who  employed  subjects  which  could 
excite  people's  nerves  at  a  period  of  artistic  decadence ; 
but  it  is  quite  incomprehensible  in  a  young  and  gifted 
Russian  musician,  who  has  enjoyed  a  good  education,  and 
is,  moreover,  a  pupil  of  Rimsky-Korsakov  and  a  friend  of 
S.  Taneiev. 

"Now  for  the  music :  (i)  The  Orgies. — If  we  are  to  realise 
in  these  orgies  a  supper  after  a  ball  at  the  house  of  a  light 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  523 

woman,  in  which  a  crowd  of  people  participate,  eat 
mayonnaise  with  truffles,  and  afterwards  dance  the  cancan, 
the  music  is  not  wanting  in  realism,  fire,  and  brilliancy.  It 
is,  moreover,  saturated  with  Liszt,  as  is  the  whole  Fantasia. 
Its  beauty — if  one  looks  at  it  closely — is  purely  on  the 
surface  ;  there  are  no  enthralling  passages.  Such  beauty  is 
not  true  beauty,  but  only  a  forced  imitation,  which  is  rather 
a  fault  than  a  merit.  We  find  this  superficial  beauty  in 
Rossini,  Donizetti,  Bellini,  Mendelssohn,  Massenet,  Liszt, 
and  others.  But  they  were  also  masters  in  their  own  way, 
though  their  chief  characteristic  was  not  the  Ideal,  after 
which  we  ought  to  strive.  For  neither  Beethoven,  nor 
Bach  (who  is  wearisome,  but  still  a  genius),  nor  Glinka,  nor 
Mozart,  ever  strove  after  this  surface  beauty,  but  rather  the 
ideal,  often  veiled  under  a  form  which  at  first  sight  is 
unattractive. 

"(2)  Pastorale  in  Bougival. — Oh  God!  If  you  could 
only  understand  how  unpoetical  and  unpastoral  this 
Bougival  is,  with  its  boats,  its  inns,  and  its  cancans  !  This 
movement  is  as  good  as  most  conventional  pastoral  ballets 
that  are  composed  by  musicians  of  some  talent. 

"(3)   The  Love  Melody 


is  altogether  beautiful.  It  reminds  me  of  Liszt.  Not  of 
any  particular  melody,  but  it  is  in  his  style,  after  the 
manner  of  his  semi-Italian  melodies,  which  are  wanting 
in  the  plasticity  and  simplicity  of  the  true  Italian  folk  airs. 
Moreover,  the  continuation  of  your  theme  : 


is  not  only  beautiful,  but  wonderful ;  it  captivates  both  the 
ear  and  the  heart. 

"  No  one  can  ever  reproach  you  with  regard  to  the 
technical  part  of  your  work,  which  deserves  unqualified 
praise." 


524  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  December  ^th  (i6//fc),  1886. 

"  MY  DEAR  MODI, — Something  very  important  happened 
to-day.  I  conducted  the  first  orchestral  rehearsal  in  such 
style  that  all  were  astonished  (unless  it  were  mere  flattery), 
for  they  had  expected  I  should  make  a  fool  of  myself. 
The  nearer  came  the  terrible  day,  the  more  unbearable 
was  my  nervousness.  I  was  often  on  the  point  of  giving 
up  the  idea  of  conducting.  In  the  end  I  mastered  myself, 
was  enthusiastically  received  by  the  orchestra,  found 
courage  to  make  a  little  speech,  and  raised  the  baton. 
Now  I  know  I  can  conduct,  I  shall  not  be  nervous  at  the 
performance." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  Moscow,  January  itfh  (26^),  1887. 

"  MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  been  enjoying  your 
hospitality  for  a  week.1  I  live  in  your  house  as  if  under  the 
wing  of  Christ.  Your  servants  are  so  careful  of  my  welfare 
that  I  cannot  praise  them  enough.  I  only  regret  that  I  can 
be  so  little  at  home.  Daily  rehearsals.  I  take  a  walk  every 
morning,  and  by  eleven  o'clock  I  am  waiting  in  the  con- 
ductor's desk.  The  rehearsal  is  not  over  till  four  o'clock, 
and  then  I  am  so  tired  that  when  I  return  home  I  have  to 
lie  down  for  a  while.  Towards  evening  I  feel  better  and 
take  some  food. 

"  The  conducting  gives  me  great  anxiety  and  exhausts 
my  whole  nervous  system.  But  I  must  say  it  also  affords 
me  great  satisfaction.  First  of  all,  I  am  very  glad  to  have 
conquered  my  innate,  morbid  shyness ;  secondly,  it  is  a 
good  thing  for  a  composer  to  conduct  his  own  work, 
instead  of  having  constantly  to  interrupt  the  conductor  to 
draw  his  attention  to  this,  or  that,  mistake;  thirdly,  all  my 
colleagues  have  shown  me  such  genuine  sympathy  that  I 
am  quite  touched  by  it,  and  very  pleased.  Do  you  know 
I  feel  much  less  agitation  than  when  I  sit  at  the  rehearsal 
doing  nothing.  If  all  goes  well,  I  believe  that  not  only 
will  my  nerves  be  none  the  worse,  but  it  will  have  a  bene- 
ficial effect  on  them." 

1  Tchaikovsky  was  staying  in  N.  F.  von  Meck's  house  at  this  time. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  525 

The  first  performance  of  Les  Caprices  cPOxane  took  place 
at  Moscow  on  January  ipth  (3ist),  1887,  and  had  a  far- 
reaching  influence  on  Tchaikovsky's  future,  because  he 
then  made  his  first  successful  attempt  at  conducting.  The 
great  interest  which  the  production  of  a  new  opera  always 
awakens  was  thereby  doubled,  and  all  the  places  were 
taken  before  the  opening  night.  The  singers  did  their 
work  conscientiously  ;  there  was  no  fault  to  be  found,  but 
no  one  made  a  memorable  "  creation  "  of  any  part.  The 
mounting  and  costumes  were  irreproachable. 

The  public  greeted  the  composer-conductor  with  great 
enthusiasm.  Gifts  of  all  kinds  showed  plainly  that  it  was 
Tchaikovsky  himself  who  was  honoured,  not  the  new 
conductor  and  composer  of  Les  Caprices  cVOxane.  The 
opera  was  a  success;  four  numbers  had  to  be  repeated 
da  capo. 

The  Press  criticisms  on  this  occasion  were  all  favourable, 
even  the  Sovremenny  Izvesty,  in  which  Krouglikov,  as  we 
know,  generally  criticised  Tchaikovsky's  works  so  severely. 
In  short,  the  opera  really  had  a  brilliant  success ;  far 
greater  than  that  achieved  by  Eugene  Oniegin  in  Peters- 
burg. Neverthess  this  opera  only  remained  in  the  repertory 
for  two  seasons. 

But  little  can  be  said  about  that  which  interests  us 
most — the  impression  made  by  Tchaikovsky's  conducting. 
The  severest  judge  and  critic,  Tchaikovsky  himself,  was 
satisfied.  We  know  in  what  an  objective  spirit  he  criticised 
the  success  of  his  works,  so  we  can  safely  believe  him 
when  he  says  he  fulfilled  his  task  satisfactorily.  He 
describes  this  memorable  evening  as  follows  : — 

To  E.  K.  Pavlovskaya. 
"  Moscow,  January  zvth  (February  ist),  1887. 
"  I  did  not  expect  to  be  very  excited  on  the  day  of  the 
performance,  but  when  I  awoke,  quite  early,  I  felt  really 
ill,  and  could  only  think  of  the  approaching  ordeal  as  of  a 
horrible  nightmare.  I  cannot  describe  what  mental  agonies 


526  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  suffered  during  the  course  of  the  day.  Consequently, 
at  the  appointed  hour,  I  appeared  half  dead  at  the  theatre. 
Altani  accompanied  me  to  the  orchestra.  Immediately 
the  curtain  went  up  and,  amid  great  applause,  I  was 
presented  with  many  wreaths  from  the  chorus,  orchestra, 
etc.  While  this  took  place,  I  somewhat  recovered  my 
composure,  began  the  Overture  well,  and  by  the  end  felt 
quite  master  of  myself.  There  was  great  applause  after 
the  Overture.  The  first  Act  went  successfully,  and  after- 
wards I  was  presented  with  more  wreaths,  among  them 
yours,  for  which  many  thanks.  I  was  now  quite  calm,  and 
conducted  the  rest  of  the  opera  with  undivided  attention. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  if  the  work  really  pleased.  The 
theatre  was  at  least  half- full  of  my  friends.  Time  and 
future  performances  will  show  if  the  applause  was  for  me 
personally  (for  the  sake  of  past  services),  or  for  my  work. 
Now  the  question  is,  how  did  I  conduct?  I  feel  some 
constraint  in  speaking  about  it.  Everyone  praised  me ;  they 
said  they  had  no  idea  I  possessed  such  a  gift  for  conduct- 
ing. But  is  it  true?  Or  is  it  only  flattery?  I  shall 
conduct  twice  more,  and  after  the  third  time  I  ought  to 
know  for  certain  how  much  truth  there  is  in  all  this." 

I  have  seldom  seen  Tchaikovsky  in  such  a  cheerful 
frame  of  mind  as  on  that  evening.  We  did  not  reach 
home  till  after  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  im- 
mediately sank  into  a  deep  sleep.  After  so  many  days  of 
anxiety  and  excitement  he  really  needed  rest !  No  one 
was  more  unprepared  than  he  for  the  sad  news  which 
reached  us  next  morning. 

About  seven  o'clock  I  was  aroused  by  a  telegram  which 
announced  the  death  of  our  niece  Tatiana,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Alexandra  Davidov.  She  had  died  quite 
suddenly  at  a  masked  ball  in  Petersburg.  Not  only  was 
she  a  near  relative,  but  also  a  highly  gifted  girl  of  great 
beauty.  It  required  considerable  resolution  on  my  part  to 
break  the  sad  news  to  my  brother  when  he  awoke  at  eleven 
o'clock,  happy  and  contented,  and  still  under  the  pleasant 
impressions  of  the  previous  evening. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  527 

In  spite  of  this  heavy  blow,  Tchaikovsky  did  not  alter 
his  decision  to  conduct  Les  Caprices  dOxane  for  two 
nights  longer.  The  constant  activity,  and  anxiety  of 
a  different  nature,  helped  to  assuage  the  violence  of  his 
grief. 


XII 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  2nd  (14^),  1887. 

"I  have  now  been  at  home  five  days,  yet  there  is  no 
question  of  rest ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  working  with  such 
feverish  haste  at  The  Enchantress  that  I  feel  quite  ex- 
hausted. I  cannot  live  without  work,  but  why  do  circum- 
stances always  compel  me  to  be  in  a  hurry,  to  have  to 
overtax  my  strength  ?  I  see  such  an  endless  pile  of  work 
before  me  to  which  I  am  pledged  that  I  dare  not  look 
into  the  future.  How  short  life  is!  Now  that  I  have 
probably  reached  that  last  step  which  means  the  full 
maturity  of  my  talent,  I  look  back  involuntarily  and, 
seeing  so  many  years  behind  me,  glance  timidly  at  the 
path  ahead  and  ask  :  Shall  I  succeed  ?  Is  it  worth  while  ? 
And  yet  it  is  only  now  that  I  begin  to  be  able  to  compose 
without  self-doubt,  and  to  believe  in  my  own  powers  and 
knowledge." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  gth  (2U/),  1887. 

<(  I  am  already  dreaming  of  a  time  when  I  shall  give 
concerts  abroad.  But  of  what  does  one  not  dream  ?  If 
only  I  were  twenty  years  younger ! ! !  One  thing  is  certain: 
my  nerves  are  much  stronger,  and  things  which  formerly 
were  not  to  be  thought  of  are  now  quite  possible.  Un- 
doubtedly I  owe  this  to  my  free  life,  relieved  from  all 
anxiety  of  earning  my  daily  bread.  And  who  but  you, 
dear  friend,  is  the  author  of  all  the  good  things  fate  has 
brought  me  ? 

"The  concert  will  take  place  in  Petersburg  on  March  5th." 


528  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

On  February  23rd  (March  7th)  Tchaikovsky  went  to 
Petersburg  to  attend  the  rehearsals  for  the  Philharmonic 
Concert,  at  which  the  St.  Petersburg  public  was  to  make 
his  acquaintance  as  a  conductor,  from  which  dated  the 
commencement  of  a  whole  series  of  similar  concerts  which 
made  his  name  known  in  Russia,  Europe  and  America. 

On  February  28th  (March  I2th)  the  first  rehearsal  took 
place,  and  Tchaikovsky  writes  in  his  diary  in  his  customary 
laconic  style  :  "  Excitement  and  dread."  Henceforth,  to 
the  very  end  of  his  life,  it  was  not  the  concert  itself  so 
much  as  the  first  rehearsal  which  alarmed  him.  By  the 
second  rehearsal  he  had  usually  recovered  himself.  Abroad, 
he  found  it  particularly  painful  to  stand  up  for  the  first 
time  before  an  unknown  orchestra. 

All  the  important  musical  circles  in  Petersburg  showed 
a  lively  interest  in  Tchaikovsky's  debut  as  a  concert  con- 
ductor. The  three  rehearsals  attracted  a  number  of  the 
first  musicians,  who  encouraged  him  by  their  warm  words 
of  sympathy.  No  debut  could  have  been  made  under 
more  favourable  conditions. 

The  concert  itself,  which  took  place  on  March  5th  (i7th), 
in  the  hall  of  the  Nobles'  Club,  went  off  admirably.  The 
programme  consisted  of:  (i)  Suite  No.  2  (first  performance 
in  St.  Petersburg),  (2)  Aria  from  the  opera  The  Enchantress, 
(3)  the  "  Mummers'  Dance "  from  the  same  opera,  (4) 
Andante  and  Valse  from  the  Serenade  for  strings, 
(5)  Francesca  da  Rimini,  (6)  Pianoforte  solos,  (7)  Overture 
"  1812." 

The  hall  was  full  to  overflowing,  and  the  ovations 
endless.  The  Press  criticisms  of  the  music,  as  well  as  of 
Tchaikovsky's  conducting,  proved  colourless  and  common- 
place, but  on  the  whole  laudatory.  Even  Cui  expressed 
some  approbation  for  Tchaikovsky  as  a  conductor,  although 
he  again  found  fault  with  him  as  a  composer. 

Tchaikovsky's  diary  contains  the  following  brief  account 
of  the  concert :  "  My  concert.  Complete  success.  Great 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  529 

enjoyment — but  still,  why  this  drop  of  gall  in  my  honey- 
pot?" 

In  this  question  lie  the  germs  of  that  weariness  and 
suffering  which  had  their  growth  in  Tchaikovsky's  soul 
simultaneously  with  his  pursuit  of  fame,  and  reached  their 
greatest  intensity  in  the  moment  of  the  composer's  greatest 
triumphs. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"MAIDANOVO,  March  i2th  (24^),  1887. 

"The  Empress  has  sent  me  her  autograph  picture  in  a 
beautiful  frame.1  This  attention  has  touched  me  deeply, 
especially  at  a  time  when  she  and  the  Emperor  have  so 
many  other  things  to  think  about." 

Diary. 

"  Ippolitov-Ivanov  and  his  wife  came  very  late,  about 
ten  o'clock.  I  met  them  out  walking.  At  first  I  felt 
annoyed  to  see  them,  and  vexed  at  my  work  being  inter- 
rupted ;  but  afterwards  these  good  people  (she  is  extremely 
sympathetic)  made  me  forget  everything,  except  that  it  is 
the  greatest  pleasure  to  be  in  the  society  of  congenial 
friends.  Ivanov  played,  and  she  sang  beautiful  fragments 
from  his  opera  Ruth  (the  duet  especially  charmed  me). 
They  left  at  six.  Worked  before  and  after  supper." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"MAIDANOVO,  March  i$th  (27^),  1887. 

"  Ruth  pleases  me  more  and  more.  I  believe  Ippolitov- 
Ivanov  will  come  to  the  front,  if  only  because  he  has 
something  original  about  him,  and  this  '  something '  is  also 
very  attractive." 

Diary. 

"March  ibth  (28^),  1887. 

"  I  will  not  conceal  it :  all  the  poetry  of  country  life  and 
solitude  has  vanished.  I  do  not  know  why.  Nowhere  do 
I  feel  so  miserable  as  at  home.  If  I  do  not  work,  I  torment 

1  In  return  for  the  dedication  of  the  twelve  songs. 
2    M 


530  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

myself,  am  afraid  of  the  future,  etc.  Is  solitude  really 
necessary  to  me  ?  When  I  am  in  town,  country  life  seems 
a  paradise ;  when  I  am  here,  I  feel  no  delight  whatever. 
To-day,  in  particular,  I  am  quite  out  of  tune." 

"March  igth  (31^). 

"  Have  just  read  through  my  diary  for  the  last  two 
years.  Good  heavens !  how  could  my  imagination  have 
been  so  deceived  by  the  melancholy  bareness  of  Maida- 
novo  ?  How  everything  used  to  please  me ! " 

"March  26th  (April  ^th). 

"  Read  through  Korsakov's  '  Snow-Maiden,'  and  was 
astonished  at  his  mastery.  I  envy  him  and  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  it." 

"March  $vth  (April  nM). 

"  After  supper  I  read  the  score  of  A  Life  for  the  Tsar. 
What  a  master !  How  did  Glinka  manage  to  do  it?  It  is 
incomprehensible  how  such  a  colossal  work  could  have 
been  created  by  an  amateur  and — judging  by  his  diary — 
a  rather  limited  and  trivial  nature." 

"  April  \bth  (2%tti). 

"  Played  through  The  Power  of  the  Evil  One}  An 
almost  repulsive  musical  monstrosity;  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  talent,  intuition,  and  imagination." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"MAIDANOVO,  April  2^th  (May  6th\  1887. 

"MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND,— I  wished  to  leave  Maidanovo 
a  month  ago,  and  yet  I  am  still  here.  My  work  (the  or- 
chestration of  the  opera)  detains  me.  This  work  is  not 
really  difficult,  but  it  takes  time.  I  notice  that  the  older 
I  grow,  the  more  trouble  my  orchestration  gives  me.  I 
judge  myself  more  severely,  am  more  careful,  more  critical 
with  regard  to  light  and  shade.  In  such  a  case  the 
country  is  a  real  boon.  Saint-Saens  has  invited  me  to  be 
present  at  both  his  concerts  at  Moscow,  but  I  have 
courteously  refused.  Poor  Saint-Saens  had  to  play  to  an 

1  Opera  by  Serov. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  531 

empty  room.  I  knew  it  would  .be  so,  and  that  the  poor 
Frenchman  would  take  it  deeply  to  heart,  so  I  did  not 
wish  to  be  a  witness  of  his  disappointment.  But  also  I 
did  not  want  to  interrupt  my  work." 

Tchaikovsky  stayed  at  Maidanovo  to  complete  the 
instrumentation  of  the  whole  score  of  The  Enchantress, 
and  left  on  May  9th  to  visit  his  sick  friend,  Kondratiev, 
before  starting  on  his  journey  to  the  Caucasus. 


XIII 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"THE  CASPIAN  SEA,  May  rtth  (June  9^),  1887. 

"  I  left  Moscow  on  the  2Oth.  At  Nijni-Novogorod  I  had 
great  trouble  in  securing  a  second-class  ticket  for  the 
steamer,  Alexander  II.  This  steamer  is  considered  the 
best,  and  is  therefore  always  full.  My  quarters  were  very 
small  and  uncomfortable,  but  I  enjoyed  the  journey  down 
the  Volga.  It  was  almost  high  tide,  and  therefore  the 
banks  were  so  far  away  that  one  could  almost  imagine 
oneself  at  sea.  Mother  Volga  is  sublimely  poetical.  The 
right  bank  is  hilly,  and  there  are  many  beautiful  bits  of 
scenery,  but  in  this  respect  the  Volga  cannot  compare  with 
the  Rhine,  nor  even  with  the  Danube  and  Rhone.  Its  beauty 
does  not  lie  in  its  banks,  but  in  its  unbounded  width  and 
in  the  extraordinary  volume  of  its  waters,  which  roll  down 
to  the  sea  without  any  motion.  We  stopped  at  the  towns 
on  the  way  just  long  enough  to  get  an  idea  of  them. 
Samara  and  the  little  town  of  Volsk  pleased  me  best,  the 
latter  having  the  most  beautiful  gardens  I  have  ever  seen. 
We  reached  Astrakhan  on  the  fifth  day.  Here  we  boarded 
a  little  steamer,  which  brought  us  to  the  spot  where  the 
mouth  of  the  Volga  debouches  into  the  open  sea,  where 
we  embarked  on  a  schooner,  on  board  which  we  have  been 
for  the  last  two  days.  The  Caspian  Sea  has  been  very 
treacherous.  It  was  so  stormy  during  the  night  that  I 
was  quite  frightened.  Every  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the 


532  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

trembling  ship  must  break  up  beneath  the  force  of  the 
waves ;  so  much  so  that  I  could  not  close  an  eye  all  night. 
But  in  spite  of  this  I  was  not  sea-sick.  We  reached  Baku 
to-day.  The  storm  has  abated.  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
start  for  Tiflis  until  to-morrow  morning,  for  we  cannot 
catch  the  train  to-day." 

On  the  journey  between  Tsaritsin  and  Astrakhan, 
Tchaikovsky  had  a  very  droll  experience.  He  had 
managed  so  cleverly  that  no  one  on  board  knew  who  he 
was.  One  day  a  little  musical  entertainment  was  got  up, 
and  Tchaikovsky  offered  to  undertake  the  accompanying. 
It  so  happened  that  a  lady  amateur  placed  one  of  his  own 
songs  before  him  and  explained  to  him  the  manner  in 
which  he  was  to  accompany  it.  On  his  timidly  objecting, 
the  lady  answered  that  she  must  know  best,  as  Tchaikovsky 
himself  had  gone  through  the  song  in  question  with  her 
music  mistress.  The  same  evening  a  passenger  related  how 
Tchaikovsky  had  been  so  delighted  with  the  tenor  Lody 
in  the  role  of  Orlik  in  Mazeppa^  that  after  the  performance 
"  he  fell  on  Lody's  neck  and  wept  tears  of  emotion." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

" TIFLIS,  May  30^  (June  \\th\  1887. 

"  Baku,  in  the  most  unexpected  fashion,  has  turned  out 
to  be  an  altogether  beautiful  place,  well  planned  and  well 
built,  clean  and  very  characteristic.  The  Oriental  (espe- 
cially the  Persian)  character  is  very  prevalent,  so  that  one 
could  almost  imagine  oneself  to  be  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Caspian  Sea.  It  has  but  one  drawback  :  the  complete 
lack  of  verdure.  .  .  . 

"  On  the  day  after  my  arrival  I  visited  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  naphtha  wells,  where  some  hundred  boring- 
towers  throw  up  a  hundred  thousand  pouds  of  naphtha 
every  minute.  The  picture  is  grand  but  gloomy.  .  .  . 

"  The  road  between  Baku  and  Tiflis  runs  through  a 
stony,  desolate  country." 

1  Orlik's  part  is  written  for  a  bass,  and  Lody  has  a  tenor  voice. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  533 

The  end  of  this  journey  was  Borjom,  where  he  intended 
to  pass  the  whole  summer  in  the  family  of  his  brother 
Anatol.  He  reached  there  on  June  i  ith.  He  only  learnt 
to  appreciate  by  degrees  the  enchanting  beauty  of  the 
neighbourhood.  The  horizon,  shut  in  by  lofty  mountains, 
the  sombre  flora,  their  luxuriance,  and  the  depth  of  the 
shadows,  made  an  unpleasant  impression  upon  him  at 
first.  Only  after  he  had  learnt  to  know  the  inexhaustible 
number  and  variety  of  the  walks  did  he  begin  to  like  this 
country  more  and  more.  When,  ten  days  later,  his  brother 
Modeste  arrived  at  Borjom  he  was  already  full  of  enthu- 
siasm and  ready  to  initiate  him  into  all  the  beauties  of  the 
place. 

Tchaikovsky  worked  very  little  while  at  Borjom,  only 
spending  an  hour  a  day  at  the  instrumentation  of  the 
"  Mozartiana  "  Suite. 

At  the  commencement  of  July  Tchaikovsky  left  Borjom 
in  response  to  a  telegram  from  his  friend  Kondratiev,  who 
had  been  removed  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  in  the  hopes  that 
the  baths  might  prolong  his  life  for  a  few  months. 
Kondratiev's  condition  was  so  critical  that  Tchaikovsky 
could  not  do  less  than  interrupt  his  own  cure  and  join  his 
friend  as  soon  as  possible. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  AIX-LA-CHAPELLE,  July  i6//fc  (28^),  1887. 

"  I  do  not  dislike  Aix — that  is  all  I  can  say.  What  is 
really  bad  here  is  the  atmosphere,  saturated  as  it  is  with 
smells  of  cooking,  cinnamon,  and  other  spices.  I  think 
sorrowfully  of  the  air  in  Borjom,  but  I  try  to  dwell  upon 
it  as  little  as  possible.  However,  I  feel  more  cheerful  here 
than  I  did  on  the  journey.  I  see  that  my  arrival  has  given 
much  pleasure  to  Kondratiev  and  Legoshin,  and  that  I 
shall  be  of  use  to  them." 
\ 


534  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Diary. 
11  Aix,  July  22nd  (August  $rd),  1887. 

"  I  sit  at  home  full  of  remorse.  The  cause  of  my 
remorse  is  this :  life  is  passing  away  and  draws  near  to  its 
end,  and  yet  I  have  not  fathomed  it.  Rather  do  I  drive 
away  those  disquieting  questions  of  our  destiny  when  they 
intrude  themselves  upon  me,  and  try  to  hide  from  them. 
Do  I  live  truly  ?  Do  I  act  rightly  ?  For  example,  I  am 
now  sitting  here,  and  everyone  admires  my  sacrifice. 
Now  there  is  no  question  of  sacrifice.  I  lead  a  life  of  ease, 
gormandise  at  the  table  d'hote^  do  nothing,  and  spend  my 
money  on  luxuries,  while  others  want  it  for  absolute 
necessities.  Is  not  that  the  veriest  egoism  ?  I  do  not  act 
towards  my  neighbours  as  I  ought." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"Aix,futy  2gth  (August  loM),  1887. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — To-day  I  am  sending  you  my  Mozart 
Suite,  registered.  Three  of  the  borrowed  numbers  in  the 
Suite  are  pianoforte  pieces  (Nos.  i,  2,  4);  one  (No.  3)  is 
the  chorus  '  Ave  Verum.'  Of  course,  I  should  be  glad  if  the 
Suite  could  be  played  next  season.  That  is  all." 

Tchaikovsky's  "  heroic  act "  of  friendship  consumed  more 
than  a  month  of  his  time.  While  paying  full  tribute  to  the 
generosity  of  his  undertaking,  we  must  confess  that  he 
failed  to  grasp  the  relation  between  wishing  and  doing. 
Tchaikovsky,  rilled  with  real  and  self-denying  compassion 
for  the  sufferings  of  his  neighbour,  was  wanting — as  in  all 
practical  questions  of  life — in  the  necessary  ability,  self- 
control,  and  purpose.  In  the  abstract,  no  one  had  more 
sympathy  for  his  neighbour  than  he  ;  but  in  reality  no  one 
was  less  able  to  do  much  for  him.  Anyone  who  could 
ask  the  trivial  question  :  "  Where  wadding,  needles,  and 
thread  could  be  bought  ?  "  would  naturally  lose  his  head  at 
the  bedside  of  a  dying  man.  The  consciousness  of  his 
helplessness  and  incapacity  to  lessen  his  friend's  suffering 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  535 

in  the  least,  his  irresolution  in  face  of  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty, rendered  Tchaikovsky's  useless  visit  to  Aix  all  the 
more  painful.  He  suffered  for  the  dying  man  and  for 
himself.  The  result  was  that  he  did  "too  much"  for 
friendship  and  "  too  little  "  for  his  sick  friend  ;  at  least,  in 
comparison  to  the  extraordinary  sacrifice  of  strength 
which  his  generous  action  demanded.  When,  at  the  end 
of  August,  the  dying  man's  nephew  came  to  relieve  him, 
Tchaikovsky  fled  from  Aix,  deeply  grieved  at  parting  from 
his  friend  "  for  ever,"  humbled  at  his  own  mental  condition, 
and  angry  at  his  inability  "  to  see  the  sad  business  through 
to  the  end."  Exhausted,  and  wrathful  with  himself,  he 
arrived  at  Maidanovo  on  August  3Oth  (September  nth), 
where  the  news  of  Kondratiev's  death  reached  him  a  fort- 
night later. 

Diary. 
"  September  2\st  (October  yd\  1887. 

"  How  short  is  life !  How  much  I  have  still  to  do,  to 
think,  and  to  say !  We  keep  putting  things  off,  and  mean- 
while death  lurks  round  the  corner.  It  is  just  a  year  since 
I  touched  this  book,  and  so  much  has  changed  since 
then.  How  strange !  Just  365  days  ago  I  was  afraid 
to  confess  that,  in  spite  of  the  glow  of  sympathetic  feel- 
ing which  Christ  awoke  in  me,  I  dared  to  doubt  His 
divinity.  Since  then  my  religion  has  become  more  clearly 
defined,  for  during  this  time  I  have  thought  a  great  deal 
about  God,  life,  and  death.  In  Aix  especially  I  meditated 
on  the  fatal  questions  :  why,  how,  for  what  end  ?  I  should 
like  to  define  my  religion  in  detail,  if  only  I  might  be 
quite  clear,  once  for  all,  as  to  my  faith,  and  as  to  the 
boundary  which  divides  it  from  speculation.  But  life  and 
its  vanities  are  passing,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall 
succeed  in  expressing  the  symbol  of  that  faith  which  has 
arisen  in  me  of  late.  It  has  very  definite  forms,  but  I  do 
not  use  them  when  I  pray.  I  pray  just  as  before  ;  as 
I  was  taught.  Moreover,  God  can  hardly  require  to  know 
how  and  why  we  pray.  God  has  no  need  of  prayers. 
But  we  have'' 


536  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

On  October  2Oth  (November  1st)  The  Enchantress  was 
produced  under  the  baton  of  the  composer,  and  the  per- 
formance was  altogether  most  brilliant  and  artistic. 

On  this  first  night  Tchaikovsky  does  not  appear  to  have 
observed  that  the  opera  was  a  failure.  He  thought,  on 
the  contrary,  that  it  pleased  the  public.  After  the  second 
performance  (on  October  23rd),  which — notwithstanding 
that  it  went  better  than  the  first — still  failed  to  move  the 
audience  to  applause,  he  first  felt  doubts  as  to  its  success. 
The  indifference  of  the  public  was  clearly  apparent  after 
the  third  and  fourth  representations,  when  his  appearance 
in  the  conductor's  desk  was  received  in  chilling  silence. 
It  was  only  then  that  he  realised  that  The  Enchantress 
was  a  failure.  On  the  fifth  night  the  house  was  empty. 

Tchaikovsky,  as  we  shall  see,  ascribed  this  failure  to  the 
ill-will  of  the  critics.  After  I  had  read  through  all  the 
notices — says  Modeste — it  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the 
present  instance,  my  brother  had  done  them  too  much 
honour.  In  none  of  the  eleven  criticisms  did  I  trace  that 
tone  of  contempt  and  malicious  enjoyment  with  which  his 
other  operas  had  been  received.  No  one  called  The 
Enchantress  a  "  still-born  nonentity,"  as  Cui  had  said  of 
Eugene  Oniegin  ;  no  one  attempted  to  count  up  the 
deliberate  thefts  in  The  Enchantress,  as  Galler  had  done 
with  Mazeppa.  The  reason  for  the  failure  of  The  En- 
chantress must  be  sought  elsewhere  :  possibly  in  the 
defective  interpretation  of  both  the  chief  parts ;  but  more 
probably  in  the  qualities  of  the  music,  which  still  awaits  its 
just  evaluation  at  the  hands  of  a  competent  critic. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"Moscow,  November  \$th  (25^),  1887. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — Please  forgive  me  for  so  seldom 
writing.  I  am  passing  through  a  very  stirring  period  of 
my  life,  and  am  always  in  such  a  state  of  agitation  that  it 
is  impossible  to  speak  to  you  from  my  heart  as  I  should 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  537 

wish.  After  conducting  my  opera  four  times,  I  returned 
here,  about  five  days  ago,  in  a  very  melancholy  frame  of 
mind.  In  spite  of  the  ovation  I  received  on  the  opening 
night,  my  opera  has  not  taken  with  the  public,  and  practi- 
cally met  with  no  success.  From  the  Press  I  have  en- 
countered such  hatred  and  hostility  that,  even  now,  I  can- 
not account  for  it.  On  no  other  opera  have  I  expended 
so  much  labour  and  sacrifice ;  yet  never  before  have  I 
been  so  persecuted  by  the  critics.  I  have  given  up  the 
journey  to  Tiflis,  for  I  shall  scarcely  have  time  to  get 
sufficient  rest  in  Maidanovo  before  I  have  to  start  on  my 
concert  tour  abroad.  I  conduct  first  in  Leipzig,  and 
afterwards  in  Dresden,  Hamburg,  Copenhagen,  Berlin, 
and  Prague.  In  March  I  give  my  own  concert  in  Paris, 
and  from  there  I  go  to  London,  as  I  have  received  an 
invitation  from  the  Philharmonic  Society.  In  short,  a 
whole  crowd  of  new  and  strong  impressions  are  awaiting 


The  Symphony  Concert  of  the  Russian  Musical  Society, 
November  I4th  (26th),  was  the  first  concert  ever  conducted 
by  Tchaikovsky  in  Moscow.  The  programme  consisted 
exclusively  of  his  own  works,  including  "  Mozartiana  "  (first 
time),  Francesca  da  Rimini,  the  Fantasia  for  pianoforte, 
op.  56  (Taneiev  as  soloist),  and  the  Arioso  from  The  En- 
chantress. On  the  following  day  the  same  programme 
was  repeated  by  the  Russian  Musical  Society  at  a  popular 
concert.  The  "  Mozartiana  "  Suite  was  a  great  success  (the 
"Ave  Verum"  was  encored),  and  the  Press — in  contra- 
distinction to  that  of  St.  Petersburg — spoke  with  great 
warmth  and  cordiality  of  the  composer  and  conductor. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"November  24^  (December  6tK)  1887. 

"  In  to-day's  paper  I  accidentally  saw  that  the  eighth  per- 
formance of  The  Enchantress  was  given  before  a  half-empty 
house.  It  is  an  undoubted  fiasco.  This  failure  has  wounded 
me  in  my  inmost  soul,  for  I  never  worked  with  greater 


538  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

ardour  than  at  The  Enchantress.  Besides,  I  feel  ashamed 
when  I  think  of  you,  for  you  must  have  sustained  a  terrible 
loss.  I  know  well  enough  that  some  day  the  opera  will  be 
reinstated,  but  when  ?  Meanwhile  it  makes  me  very  bitter. 
So  far  I  have  always  maintained  that  the  Press  could 
not  influence  one's  success  or  failure ;  but  now  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  it  is  only  the  united  attack  of  these 
hounds  of  critics  which  has  ruined  my  opera.  The  devil 
take  them  !  Why  this  spite  ?  Just  now,  for  example,  in 
to-day's  number  of  the  Novosti,  see  how  they  rail  at  our 
Musical  Society  and  at  me,  because  of  this  Popular 
Concert !  Incomprehensible  !  " 


PART   VII 


1888 

WITH  December,  1887,  began  a  new  and  last 
period  in  the  life  of  Tchaikovsky,  during 
which   he    realised   his   wildest   dreams   of 
fame,  and  attained  to  such  prosperity  and 
universal  honour  as  rarely  fall  to  the  lot  of  an  artist  during 
his  lifetime.     Distrustful  and  modest  (from  an  excess  of 
pride),  he  was  now  in  a  perpetual  state  of  wonder  and 
delight  to  find  himself  far  more  appreciated  in  Russia  and 
abroad  than  he  had  ever  hoped  in  the  past.     Physically 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  in  former  years,  possessing 
the  unlimited  affections  of  those  whom  he  loved  in  return, 
— he  was,  to  all  appearance,  an  example  of  mortal  happi- 
ness, yet  in  reality  he  was  less  happy  than  before. 

Those  menacing  blows  of  fate — like  the  opening  of 
Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony — had  sounded,  although 
muffled  and  distant,  even  on  the  day  of  Tchaikovsky  s 
first  concert  (March  5th);  while  that  intangible  and  ground- 
less sense  of  bitterness — that  "  touch  of  gall,"  as  he  himself 
calls  it — was  present  even  in  that  triumphant  moment 
when  he  found  himself  master  of  the  orchestra  and  all  its 
tempestuous  elements,  as  though  prophetic  of  those 
sufferings  which  overshadowed  the  last  years  of  his  life. 
At  the  time  he  did  not  understand  this  vague  warning; 
afterwards,  when  it  came  back  to  him,  he  realised  it  had 
been  a  friendly  caution,  not  to  continue  the  chase  for 

539 


540  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

fame;  not  to  take  up  occupations  that  went  against  his 
nature,  nor  to  spend  his  strength  upon  the  attainment  of 
things  which  would  come  of  themselves ;  finally,  to  cling 
to  his  true  vocation,  lest  disappointment  should  await  him 
in  the  new  path  he  had  elected  to  follow.  In  February 
he  wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek :  "  New  and  powerful  im- 
pressions continually  await  me.  Probably  my  fame  will 
increase,  but  would  it  not  be  better  to  stay  at  home  and 
work  ?  God  knows !  I  can  say  this  :  I  regret  the  time 
when  I  was  left  in  peace  in  the  solitude  of  the  country." 
And  this  regret  grew  keener,  as  his  weariness  grew  more 
intolerable.  The  more  he  accustomed  his  temperament  to 
unsuitable  occupations,  the  further  he  advanced  his  reputa- 
tion, the  more  complete  was  his  disenchantment  with  the 
prize.  Radiant  and  glittering  as  it  had  appeared  from 
afar,  seen  closer,  it  proved  insignificant  and  tarnished. 
Hence  the  profound  disillusionment,  "  the  insane  depres- 
sion,1' the  something  "  hopeless  and  final "  which  make  so 
dark  a  background  to  the  picture  of  his  brilliant  success 
at  home  and  abroad. 

Tchaikovsky  left  Russia  on  December  I5th  (2/th)  and 
arrived  in  Berlin  two  days  later.     Here  he  was  to  meet 

Herr  N who  was  acting  as  his  concert  agent  during  this 

tour.  He  had  no  sooner  settled  in  his  hotel  than,  picking 
up  a  newspaper,  his  eye  fell  upon  a  paragraph  to  the  effect 
that:  "To-day,  December  29th,  the  Russian  composer 
Tchaikovsky  arrives  in  Berlin.  To-morrow  his  numerous 
friends  (?)  and  admirers  (?)  will  meet  to  celebrate  his 

arrival  by  a  luncheon  at  the restaurant,  at  one  o'clock, 

Punctual  attendance  is  requested."  "No  words  could 
describe  my  horror  and  indignation,"  wrote  Tchaikovsky. 
"At  that  moment  I  could  cheerfully  have  murdered 

Herr  N .     I  went  out  to   breakfast  at  a  cafe  in  the 

Passage,  and  afterwards  to  the  Museum,  walking  in  fear 

and  trembling  lest  I  should  meet  Herr  N or   some 

of  my  numerous  friends  and  admirers" 


TCHAIKOVSKY   IN    l888 
(From  a  photograph  by  R  eitlinger,  r 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  541 

The  following  morning  the  dreaded  interview  with  his 
agent  took  place.  Tchaikovsky  found  him  not  altogether 
unsympathetic,  but  during  the  entire  tour  he  realised  that 
he  was  dealing  with  a  very  peculiar  and  eccentric  man, 
whom  he  never  really  understood. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"LEIPZIG,  December  2ist,  1887  (January  znd>  1888). 

"  I  have  made  acquaintance  with  Scharwenka  and  a 
number  of  other  people.  I  also  met  Artot.1  Everyone 

was  astonished  to  see  me  with  N ,  who  follows  me  like 

my  own  shadow.      At  three  o'clock   I  left  for  Leipzig, 

luckily  without  N for  once,  and  was  met  by  Brodsky, 

Siloti,  and  two  of  my  admirers.  I  had  supper  with 
Brodsky.  There  was  a  Christmas-tree.  His  wife  and 
sister-in-law  are  charming — really  good  Russian  women. 
All  the  time  the  tears  were  in  my  eyes.  Next  day  I  took 
a  walk  (it  was  New  Year's  Day),  and  went  back  to  dine 
with  Siloti  at  Brodsky's.  He  was  just  trying  a  new  trio 
by  Brahms.  The  composer  himself  was  at  the  piano. 
Brahms  is  a  handsome  man,  rather  short  and  stout.2  He 
was  very  friendly  to  me.  Then  we  sat  down  to  table. 
Brahms  enjoys  a  good  drink.  Grieg,  fascinating  and  sym- 
pathetic, was  there  too.3  In  the  evening  I  went  to 

1  Their  first  meeting  since  1869. 

2  In  an  account  of  his  visit  to  Leipzig,  which  Tchaikovsky  afterwards  pub- 
lished as  the  Diary  of  My  Tour  in  /<&?<?,  he  characterises  the  German  com- 
poser more  fully :    "  Brahms  is  rather  a  short  man,  suggests  a  sort  of  ampli- 
tude, and  possesses  a  very  sympathetic  appearance.      His  fine  head— almost 
that  of  an  old  man — recalls  the  type  of  a  handsome,  benign,  elderly  Russian 
priest.      His  features  are  certainly  not  characteristic  of  German  good  looks, 
and  I  cannot  conceive  why  some  learned  ethnographer  (Brahms  himself  told 
me  this  after  I  had  spoken  of  the  impression  his  appearance  made  upon  me) 
chose  to  reproduce  his  head  on  the  first  page  of  his  books  as  being  highly 
characteristic  of  German  features.      A  certain  softness  of  outline,  pleasing 
curves,  rather  long  and  slightly  grizzled  hair,  kind  grey  eyes,  and  a  thick 
beard,   freely  sprinkled   with  white — all  this  recalled  at  once  the  type  of 
pure-bred  Great  Russian  so  frequently  met  with  among  our  clergy.    Brahms's 
manner  is  very  simple,  free  from  vanity,  his  humour  jovial,  and  the  few  hours 
spent  in  his  society  left  me  with  a  very  agreeable  recollection." 

3  In  the  same  series  of  articles  appeared  the  following  sketch  of  Grieg : 
"  There  entered  the  room  a  very  short,  middle-aged  man,  exceedingly  fragile 


542  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

the  Gewandhaus,  when  Joachim  and  Hausmann  played 
the  new  Double  Concerto  of  Brahms  for  violin  and  'cello, 
and  the  composer  himself  conducted.  I  sat  in  the  Direc- 
tors' box,  and  made  acquaintance  with  such  numbers  of 
people  that  I  could  not  keep  pace  with  them  all.  The 
Directors  informed  me  that  my  rehearsal  was  fixed  for  the 
next  day.  What  I  suffered  during  the  evening^-in  fact 
the  whole  time — cannot  be  described.  If  Brodsky  and 
Siloti  had  not  been  there,  I  think  I  should  have  died.  I 
spent  a  terrible  night.  The  rehearsal  took  place  early  this 
morning.  I  was  formally  introduced  to  the  orchestra  by 
Carl  Reinecke.  I  made  a  little  speech  in  German.  The 
rehearsal  went  well  in  the  end.  Brahms  was  there,  and 
yesterday  and  to-day  we  have  been  a  good  deal  together. 
We  are  ill  at  ease,  because  we  do  not  really  like  each 
other,  but  he  takes  great  pains  to  be  kind  to  me.  Grieg  is 
charming.  Dined  with  Siloti.  Quartet  concert  at  night. 
The  new  trio  of  Brahms.  Home-sick.  Very  tired. 

"You  cannot  imagine  a  finer  room  than  at  the  Gewand- 
haus.    It  is  the  best  concert-room  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

To  P.  I.  Jurgenson. 

"LEIPZIG,  December  24^,  1887  (January  $thy  1888). 
"Yesterday  the  public  rehearsal  took  place.  I  was  very 
nervous,  but  my  success  was  unusually  flattering.  .  .  .  To- 
night, however,  all  may  be  reversed,  for  it  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  I  shall  not  make  a  fool  of  myself.  I  have 
seen  a  good  deal  of  Brahms.  He  is  by  no  means  a  total 
abstainer,  but  he  is  very  pleasant,  and  not  so  vain  as  I 
expected.  But  it  is  Grieg  who  has  altogether  won  my 
heart.  He  is  most  taking  and  sympathetic,  and  his  wife 

in  appearance,  with  shoulders  of  unequal  height,  fair  hair  brushed  back  from 
his  forehead,  and  a  very  slight,  almost  boyish,  beard  and  moustache.  There 
was  nothing  very  striking  about  the  features  of  this  man,  whose  exterior  at 
once  attracted  my  sympathy,  for  it  would  be  impossible  to  call  them  hand- 
some or  regular  ;  but  he  had  an  uncommon  charm,  and  blue  eyes,  not  very 
large,  but  irresistibly  fascinating,  recalling  the  glance  of  a  charming  and 
candid  child.  I  rejoiced  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  when  we  were  mutually 
introduced  to  each  other,  and  it  turned  out  that  this  personality,  which  was  so 
inexplicably  sympathetic  to  me,  belonged  to  a  musician  whose  warmly 
emotional  music  had  long  ago  won  my  heart.  It  was  Edvard  Grieg." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  543 

equally  so.  Reinecke  is  very  amiable.  At  the  first 
rehearsal  he  introduced  me  to  the  band,  and  I  made  the 
following  speech :  '  Gentlemen,  I  cannot  speak  German, 
but  I  am  proud  to  have  to  do  with  such  a  ...  such  a 
.  .  .  that  is  to  say  ...  I  am  proud  ...  I  cannot.'  The 
band  is  splendid  ;  I  could  not  have  believed  that  our 
musicians — good  as  they  are — were  still  so  far  behind  a 
first-rate  German  orchestra." 

"December  2$th  (January  6th}. 

"  The  concert  has  gone  off  well.  The  reception  of  the 
Suite  was  good,  but  not  to  be  compared  with  that  at  the 
public  rehearsal,  when  the  audience  consisted  almost 
entirely  of  students  and  musicians.  After  the  concert 
I  went  to  a  banquet  arranged  in  my  honour  by  Reinecke. 
He  related  much  that  was  interesting  about  Schumann 
and,  generally  speaking,  I  felt  very  much  at  ease  with  him. 
Afterwards  I  had  to  go  on  to  a  fete  given  by  the  Russian 
students,  and  I  did  not  get  home  until  very  late.  Now 
I  am  just  off  to  a  Tchaikovsky  Festival  held  by  the  Liszt- 
Verein.  It  begins  at  1 1  a.m." 

The  Press  notices  upon  Tchaikovsky's  debut  in  Leipzig 
as  conductor  and  composer  were  numerous  and  lengthy. 
Keeping  in  view  the  importance  of  this  occasion,  and  the 
influence  it  exercised  on  his  future  career,  it  has  been 
thought  well  to  give  some  extracts  from  the  most  in- 
teresting of  these  criticisms,  which  will  be  found  in  the 
Appendix.1 

At  the  Tchaikovsky  Festival  given  by  the  Liszt- Verein, 
his  Quartet,  op.  n,  Trio,  and  some  of  his  smaller  composi- 
tions were  included  in  the  programme.  The  following  day 
the  composer  returned  to  Berlin,  where  he  arranged  with 
the  Directors  of  the  Philharmonic  Society  to  give  a  concert 
of  his  works  on  February  8th.  He  then  left  for  Hamburg 
in  the  company  of  Adolf  Brodsky,  where  the  latter  was 
to  take  part  in  a  concert  conducted  by  Hans  von  Billow. 
As  Tchaikovsky  had  the  prospect  of  a  few  days'  leisure, 

1  See  Appendix  C,  p.  762. 


544  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

he  decided  to  spend  them  in  Liibeck,  whence  he  wrote  to 
his  brother  Modeste  on  December  3Oth,  1887  (January  i  ith 
1888):— 

"  What  joy !  I  do  so  enjoy  finding  myself  in  a  strange 
town,  in  a  capital  hotel,  with  the  prospect  of  five  peaceful 
days  before  me !  I  arrived  in  Hamburg  with  Brodsky  at 
6  a.m.  The  rehearsal  for  Bulow's  concert  began  at  ten 
o'clock.  Biilow  was  delighted  to  see  me.  He  has  altered 
and  aged.  He  seems,  too,  calmer,  more  subdued,  and 
softer  in  manner.  ...  I  went  to  the  concert  in  the  evening. 
Biilow  conducted  with  inspiration,  especially  the  'Eroica.' 
I  came  on  here  to-day.  It  is  very  pleasant.  What  a  bless- 
ing to  be  silent !  To  feel  that  no  one  will  be  coming,  that 
I  shall  not  be  dragged  out  anywhere ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"January  ist  (i$th\   1888. 

"...  At  last  January  (old  style)  has  come.  Now  at  any 
rate  I  can  reckon  four  months  to  my  return  to  Russia.  I 
went  to  the  theatre  yesterday.  Barnay  was  the  star  in 
Othello.  He  is  sometimes  astounding,  quite  a  genius,  but 
what  an  agonising  play !  lago  is  too  revolting — such 
beings  do  not  exist." 

On  January  ist,  1888,  a  piece  of  good  fortune  fell  to 
Tchaikovsky's  lot.  Thanks  to  the  efforts  of  Vsievolojsky, 
Director  of  the  Imperial  Opera,  the  Emperor  bestowed 
upon  him  a  life  pension  of  3,000  roubles  (£300)  per 
annum. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  HAMBURG,  January  loth  (22nd),  1888. 

"  On  my  appearance  I  was  enthusiastically  received  by 
the  orchestra,  and  their  applause  was  supported  by  the 
public,  which  was  not  the  case  in  Leipzig.  I  conducted 
without  agitation,  but  towards  the  end  I  grew  so  tired  I 
was  afraid  I  could  not  hold  out.  Sapellnikov1  played 

1  Pupil  of  Brassin  and  Madame  Sophie  Menter  at  the  St.  Petersburg  Con- 
servatoire, and,  later  on,  an  intimate  friend  of  Tchaikovsky. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  545 

splendidly.  After  the  concert  there  was  a  large  party 
at  the  house  of  Bernuth,  the  Director  of  the  Philharmonic. 
About  a  hundred  guests  were  present,  all  in  full-dress. 
After  a  long  speech  from  Bernuth,  I  replied  in  German, 
which  created  a  furore.  Then  we  began  to  eat  and  drink. 
Yesterday  was  terrible ;  I  cannot  describe  how  I  was  torn 
to  pieces,  nor  how  exhausted  I  felt  afterwards.  In  the 
evening  there  was  a  gala  in  my  honour,  at  which  my  com- 
positions were  exclusively  performed.  The  Press  was  very 
favourable. 

"  After  the  soirte  followed  a  fearful  night  of  it,  in  com- 
pany with  many  musicians,  critics,  and  amateurs,  admirers 
of  my  music.  I  feel  befogged.  To-day  I  start  for  Berlin. 
Billow  is  very  amiable." 

The  programme  of  the  concert  at  which  Tchaikovsky 
made  his  first  appearance  in  Hamburg  was  as  follows  : 
Tchaikovsky's  Serenade  for  strings,  Pianoforte  Concerto 
in  B  t?  minor  (Sapellnikov),  the  Theme  and  Variations 
from  his  Third  Suite,  and  Haydn's  "  Oxford  "  Symphony.1 

Between  the  Hamburg  and  Berlin  concerts  Tchaikovsky 
was  anxious  for  a  little  repose,  and  decided  to  spend  a  few 
days  at  Magdeburg.  On  the  one  day  spent  in  Berlin  en 
passant  he  heard,  for  the  first  time,  a  work  by  Richard 
Strauss.  "  Biilow  has  taken  him  up  just  now,"  he  wrote  to 
his  brother,  "  as  formerly  he  took  up  Brahms  and  others. 
To  my  mind  such  an  astounding  lack  of  talent,  united  to 
such  pretentiousness,  never  before  existed." 

Tchaikovsky  now  began  to  receive  invitations  from 
many  musical  centres  to  conduct  his  own  works.  Colonne 
had  engaged  him  for  two  concerts  in  Paris  on  March  nth 
and  1 8th.  Several  other  offers,  including  Weimar  and  the 
Dresden  Philharmonic,  had  to  be  refused  because  the  dates 
did  not  fit  in  with  his  plans. 

On  the  advice  of  Biilow,  Wolf,  and  other  friends  he  decided 
to  alter  the  programme  of  the  forthcoming  concert  at 
Berlin,  for  which  he  had  put  down  his  Francesa  da  Rimini. 

1  For  Press  notices  see  Appendix  C,  p.  764. 
2    N 


546  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  Perhaps  they  are  right,"  he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  brother. 
"  The  taste  of  the  German  public  is  quite  different  to  ours. 
Now  I  understand  why  Brahms  is  idolised  here,  although 
my  opinion  of  him  has  not  changed.  Had  I  known  this 
sooner,  perhaps  I,  too,  might  have  learnt  to  compose  in 
a  different  way.  Remind  me  later  to  tell  you  about  my 
acquaintance  with  the  venerable  Ave-Lallemant,1  which 
touched  me  profoundly. 

"  Sapellnikov  made  quite  a  sensation  in  Hamburg.  He 
really  has  a  great  talent.  He  is  also  a  charming  and 
good-hearted  young  man." 

To  V.  Napravnik. 
" MAGDEBURG,  January^  izfh  (24^),  1888. 

"The  newspapers  have  published  long  articles  about 
me.  They  '  slate '  me  a  good  deal,  but  pay  me  far  more 
attention  than  our  own  Press.  Their  views  are  sometimes 
funny.  A  critic,  speaking  of  the  variations  in  the  Third 
Suite,  says  that  one  describes  a  sitting  of  the  Holy  Synod 
and  another  a  dynamite  explosion." 

1  Chairman  of  the  Committee  of  the  Philharmonic  Society.  In  the  Diary 
of  My  Tour  Tchaikovsky  says:  "This  venerable  old  man  of  over  eighty 
paid  me  great  attention.  ...  In  spite  of  his  age  and  his  infirmity,  he 
attended  two  rehearsals,  the  concert,  and  the  party  at  Dr.  Bernuth's.  Herr 
Lallemant  candidly  confessed  that  many  of  my  works  which  had  been  per- 
formed in  Hamburg  were  not  at  all  to  his  mind  ;  that  he  could  not  endure  my 
noisy  instrumentation  and  disliked  my  use  of  the  instruments  of  percussion. 
For  all  that  he  thought  I  had  in  me  the  making  of  a  really  good  German 
composer.  Almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes  he  besought  me  to  leave  Russia  and 
settle  permanently  in  Germany,  where  classical  conventions  and  traditions  of 
high  culture  could  not  fail  to  correct  my  faults,  which  were  easily  explicable 
by  the  fact  of  my  having  been  born  and  educated  in  a  country  so  un- 
enlightened and  so  far  behind  Germany.  ...  I  strove  my  best  to  overcome 
his  prejudice  against  our  national  sentiments,  of  which,  moreover,  he  was 
quite  ignorant,  or  only  knew  them  through  the  speeches  of  the  Russophobist 
section.  We  parted  good  friends." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  547 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  LEIPZIG,  January  2oth  (February  \$t\  1888. 

".  .  .  How  shall  I  describe  all  I  am  experiencing  just 
now?  Continual  home-sickness,  some  well-nigh  intoler- 
able hours,  and  a  few  very  pleasant  moments.  I  intended 
to  spend  a  few  quiet  days  here,  instead  of  which  I  am 
whirled  along  in  a  stream  of  gaiety  :  dinners,  visits,  con- 
certs, suppers,  the  theatre,  etc.  My  sole  comfort  is  the 
society  of  Siloti,  Brodsky  (I  am  quite  in  love  with  his 
wife  and  sister-in-law),  and  Grieg  and  his  wife.  But 
besides  these,  every  day  I  make  new  and  sympathetic 
acquaintances.  I  take  Sapellnikov  with  me  wherever 
I  go,  and  have  introduced  him  to  many  people  in  the 
musical  world.  Wherever  he  plays  he  creates  a  sensation. 
I  am  more  and  more  convinced  of  his  superb  talent.  .  .  . 
I  went  to  a  Quartet  Concert,  at  which  I  heard  a  quartet  by 
an  exceedingly  gifted  Italian,  Busoni.  I  quickly  made 
friends  with  him.  At  an  evening  given  by  Brodsky  I 
was  charmed  with  a  new  sonata  by  Grieg.  Grieg  and  his 
wife  are  so  quaint,  sympathetic,  interesting,  and  original 
that  I  could  not  describe  them  in  a  letter.  I  regard  Grieg 
as  very  highly  gifted.  To-day  I  dine  with  him  at 
Brodsky's.  To-night  is  the  extra  concert  in  aid  of  the 
funds  for  the  Mendelssohn  Memorial,  and  to-morrow  the 
public  rehearsal  of  the  Gewandhaus  Concert,  at  which 
Rubinstein's  symphony  will  be  given.  Afterwards  I  am 
giving  a  dinner  to  my  friends  at  a  restaurant,  and  start  for 
Berlin  at  five  o'clock.  How  tired  I  am  !  " 


"January  2$rd  (February 

"...  to-day  I  got  rid  of  N  --  .  We  parted  in  peace, 
but  my  purse  was  lighter  by  five  hundred  marks  in  conse- 
quence. I  do  not  regret  it  in  the  least  ;  I  would  have 
given  a  good  deal  more  to  see  the  last  of  this  gentleman." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  BERLIN,  January  2$rd  (February  tfh). 

"...  I  have  made  great  progress  in  my  conducting. 
.  .  .  Wolf  gave  a  large  dinner-party  at  my  desire,  in 


548  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

order  that  all  the  great  lights  here  might  hear  Sapellnikov. 
All  the  critics  were  there.  Sapellnikov  created  a  furore. 
For  the  last  three  weeks  we  have  been  inseparable.  I 
have  grown  so  fond  of  him,  and  he  so  attached  and  good 
to  me — just  as  though  he  were  a  near  relation,  Since 
Kotek's  days  I  have  never  cared  for  anyone  so  much.  It 
is  impossible  to  imagine  anyone  more  sympathetic,  gentle, 
kindly  ;  more  delicate-minded  and  distinguished.  On  his 
return  I  beg  you  not  only  to  be  friendly  to  him,  but  to 
introduce  him  to  all  our  relatives.  I  consider  him — and 
I  am  not  alone  in  my  opinion — a  future  genius  as  regards 
the  piano.  Yesterday  Bock  had  a  party.  Artot  was  there. 
I  was  inexpressibly  glad  to  see  her  again  ;  we  made  friends 
at  once,  without  a  word  as  to  the  past.  Her  husband, 
Padilla,  embraced  me  heartily.  To-morrow  she  gives  a 
dinner.  As  an  elderly  woman  she  is  just  as  fascinating  as 
twenty  years  ago." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  LEIPZIG,  January  30^  (February  nth),  1888. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND, — My  concert  in  Berlin  was  a  great 
success.1  I  had  a  splendid  orchestra  to  deal  with  and 
musicians  who  were  in  sympathy  with  me  from  the  very 
first  rehearsal.  The  programme  was  as  follows  : — 

"(i)  Overture,  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  (2)  Pianoforte  Con- 
certo, played  by  Siloti ;  (3)  Introduction  and  Fugue  from 
the  First  Suite ;  (4)  Andante  from  the  First  Quartet ; 
(5)  Songs,  sung  by  Fraulein  Friede ;  (6)  Overture,  "1812." 

"  The  public  gave  me  a  most  enthusiastic  reception.  Of 
course,  all  this  is  very  pleasant,  but  at  the  same  time  I  feel 
so  worn  out  I  hardly  know  how  I  am  to  get  through 
all  that  lies  before  me.  .  .  .  Can  you  recognise  in  this 
Russian  musician,  touring  all  over  Europe,  the  man  who, 
a  few  years  ago,  fled  from  life  and  society,  and  lived  in 
solitude  abroad,  or  in  the  country  ? 

"  A  real  triumphal  festival  awaits  me  in  Prague.  The 
programme  of  my  week's  visit  there  is  already  arranged, 
and  has  been  sent  to  me.  It  includes  any  number  of 
ovations  and  receptions.  The  idea  is  to  give  my  concert 

1  For  Press  notices  see  Appendix  C,  p.  767. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  549 

there  a  certain  patriotic  and  anti-German  character.  This 
puts  me  in  an  awkward  position,  because  I  have  been 
received  in  a  very  friendly  way  in  Germany." 

In  spite  of  the  applause  of  the  public  and  the  flattering 
notices  in  the  Press,  Tchaikovsky's  visit  made  less  impres- 
sion in  Berlin  than  in  Leipzig  and  Hamburg.  Whereas  in 
the  latter  towns  his  concerts  were  the  great  events  of  the 
day,  in  the  capital  the  debut  of  a  Russian  composer  passed 
comparatively  unnoticed  amid  a  thousand  other  interests. 
A  brief  entry  in  his  diary  on  January  28th  about  "a 
bucket  of  cold  water  "  seems  to  point  to  a  certain  dis- 
illusionment as  to  the  character  of  his  reception  in  Berlin. 
Possibly  he  had  heard  rumours  that  the  concert-room  had 
been  liberally  "  papered,"  and  in  this  way  a  certain  amount 
of  artificial  enthusiasm  spread  through  the  audience. 

In  any  case,  it  was  Leipzig,  rather  than  Berlin,  that 
showed  the  greater  interest  in  Tchaikovsky  during  this 
tour,  and  he  was  glad  to  return  there  for  a  few  days  before 
leaving  Germany.  "  I  have  come  back  to  Leipzig,"  he 
wrote  to  a  relative  on  January  3Oth  (February  nth),  1888, 
"  as  I  had  promised  to  be  present  at  the  concert  given 
in  my  honour  by  the  Liszt- Verein.  The  concert  could  not 
come  off,  so  yesterday,  at  my  request,  Wagner's  Meister- 
singer  was  performed  at  the  theatre  instead.  I  had  never 
heard  this  opera.  Early  this  morning  I  was  awakened  by 
the  strains  of  the  Russian  hymn.  An  orchestra  was 
serenading  me.  They  played  for  nearly  an  hour  under 
my  windows,  and  the  whole  hotel  ran  out  to  see  and  hear." 

The  marvellous  performance  of  Meistersinger  under 
Nikisch,  and  the  touching  ovation  in  the  form  of  a  serenade, 
were  the  closing  events  of  Tchaikovsky's  first  concert  tour 
in  Germany.  In  Bohemia  and  France  far  more  brilliant 
receptions  awaited  him,  but  these  were  of  quite  a  different 
nature. 


550  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


II 

On  January  3ist  (February  I2th)  Tchaikovsky,  ac- 
companied by  Siloti,  arrived  at  the  frontiers  of  Bohemia. 
The  triumphal  character  of  the  reception  which  awaited 
him  was  soon  made  apparent  by  the  extraordinary 
attentions  of  the  railway  officials.  At  one  of  the  last 
stations  before  Prague,  a  deputation  of  members  of 
various  societies  had  assembled  to  welcome  him.  At 
Prague  a  representative  of  the  "  Russian  Club "  awaited 
him  on  the  platform,  having  come  expressly  from  Vienna 
to  pay  him  this  compliment.  He  presented  Tchaikovsky 
with  an  address  in  Russian.  This  was  followed  by  a 
speech  in  Czech,  delivered  by  Dr.  Strakaty,  the  representa- 
tive of  the  "  Umclecka  Beseda,"1  after  which  children 
presented  him  with  flowers,  and  he  was  hailed  with 
prolonged  cries  of  "Slava!"  (Hurrah!).  The  carriage 
which  awaited  him,  and  the  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Hotel  de 
Saxe,  were  provided  for  him  at  the  expense  of  the  Artists' 
Club. 

In  the  evening  he  was  invited  to  hear  Verdi's  Otello, 
and  a  box  was  reserved  for  him  at  the  Opera  House. 
Rieger,  "  the  leader  of  the  Czech  people,"  was  the  first  to 
greet  the  guest,  after  which  followed  many  of  the  most 
prominent  men  in  Bohemia. 

The  following  day  Tchaikovsky  received  a  visit  from 
Dvorak,  and  the  two  composers  quickly  made  friends 
with  each  other. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  in  detail  the  programme  drawn 
up  for  each  day  of  the  composer's  visit  to  Prague.  He 
made  an  almost  royal  progress  to  all  the  chief  places  of 
interest.  On  one  occasion,  entering  the  "  Rathaus  "  while 

1  The  Artists'  Club. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  551 

a  session  was  being  held,  the  entire  body  of  members  rose 
to  greet  him.  One  evening  he  was  serenaded  by  the 
famous  Choral  Union  "  Hlahol."  He  listened  to  the  songs 
from  his  balcony,  and  afterwards  came  down  to  thank  the 
singers  in  person.  An  offer,  made  in  the  course  of  his 
speech,  to  compose  something  expressly  for  the  Society 
was  received  with  loud  cheering.  On  February  6th  (i8th) 
he  was  invited  to  the  Students'  Union  and  presented  to 
the  students.  In  his  diary  he  speaks  of  this  as  "  a  very 
solemn  and  touching  ceremony."  Accompanied  by  cries 
of  "  Slava ! "  and  "  Na  Sdrava ! "  he  was  next  led  off  to  the 
public  rehearsal  of  the  concert.  The  evening  wound  up 
with  a  brilliant  soiree  at  the  Town  Club  (Meschtschanska 
Beseda). 

The  first  concert  itself  took  place  on  February  7th  (iQth), 
in  the  "  Rudolfinum."  The  programme  consisted  entirely 
of  Tchaikovsky's  music,  and  included :  (i)  Overture, 
Romeo  and  Juliet;  (2)  Concerto  for  Pianoforte  (B  b  minor), 
played  by  Siloti ;  (3)  Elegie  from  the  Third  Suite ; 
(4)  Violin  Concerto,  played  by  Halir;  (5),  Overture, 
"  1812"  Of  all  these  works  the  last-named  excited  the 
greatest  applause.  Tchaikovsky  sums  up  his  impressions 
as  follows :  "  Undoubtedly  it  was  the  most  eventful  day 
of  my  life.  I  have  become  so  attached  to  these  good 
Bohemians  .  .  .  and  with  good  reason  !  Heavens,  what 
enthusiasm  !  Such  as  I  have  never  known,  but  in  my  own 
dear  Russia ! " 

Two  days  later,  on  February  9th  (2ist),  the  second 
concert  was  given  in  the  foyer  of  the  Opera  House.  This 
time  the  programme  comprised  :  (i)  Serenade  for  strings  ; 
(2)  Variations  from  the  Third  Suite ;  (3)  Pianoforte  Solos 
(Siloti) ;  (4)  Overture,  "  1812"  The  ovations  were  even 
more  hearty,  and  the  gifts  more  costly,  than  at  the  first 
concert.  "An  overwhelming  success,"  says  Tchaikovsky 
in  his  diary.  "  A  moment  of  absolute  bliss.  But  only  one 
moment." 


552  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

On  the  evening  of  February  loth  (22nd),  sped  by 
farewell  addresses,  and  smothered  in  flowers,  the  composer 
took  leave  of  the  festive  city  of  Prague. 

Although  the  chief  object  of  Tchaikovsky's  tour  was  to 
make  his  works  more  widely  known  in  Europe,  and  to 
carry  them  beyond  the  confines  of  his  native  land,  he 
combined  with  this  aim — although  in  a  lesser  degree — the 
desire  to  see  for  himself  the  extent  of  his  reputation  and 
to  reap  some  profit  by  it.  Distrustful  and  modest  as  he 
was,  he  made  no  great  demands  in  this  respect,  and  even 
the  appreciation  he  received  in  Germany  quite  surpassed 
his  expectations.  The  honour  done  him  in  Prague  far 
outstripped  his  wildest  dreams.  These  ten  days  were  the 
culminating  point  of  Tchaikovsky's  fame  during  his  life- 
time. Allowing  that  nine-tenths  of  the  ovations  lavished 
on  him  were  really  intended  for  Russia,  even  then,  he  could 
not  fail  to  be  flattered  that  he  was  the  chosen  recipient  of 
the  sympathy  of  the  Czechs  for  the  Russians,  since  it  proved 
that  he  was  already  famous  as  a  composer.  It  was  flatter- 
ing, too,  to  feel  that  he  was  honoured  by  a  nation  which 
could  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  musical  in  the  world. 
It  pleased  him  that  Prague — the  first  place  to  recognise 
the  genius  of  Mozart — should  pay  him  honour,  thus 
uniting  his  fate  with  that  of  the  illustrious  German.  It 
touched  Tchaikovsky  deeply  to  feel  that  those  who  gave 
him  one  "moment  of  absolute  happiness"  were  descendants 
of  the  same  race  which,  long  ago,  had  given  a  portion  of 
joy  to  him  who  was  his  teacher  and  model,  both  as  man 
and  as  musician.  This  strange  coincidence  was  the  most 
flattering  event  of  his  life — the  highest  honour  to  which 
he  had  ever  ventured  to  aspire. 

Simultaneously  with  this  climax  of  his  renown,  came 
one  of  the  bitterest  experiences  of  his  life.  The  Russian 
Press  did  not  give  a  line  to  this  triumph  of  a  native  com- 
poser in  Prague.  He  felt  this  to  be  a  profound  injury, 
which  surprised  and  mortified  him  the  more,  because 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  553 

all  these  triumphs  in  his  life  were  regarded  as  important 
events  even  by  the  Czechs  themselves.  It  was  most  pain- 
ful to  realise  that  Russia,  for  whom  the  greater  part  of 
these  honours  were  intended,  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
them;  that  on  account  of  the  attitude  of  the  Press  towards 
him,  personally,  this  warm  sympathy,  meant  for  his 
countrymen  as  a  whole,  would  never  be  known  to  them, 
nor  evoke  any  response. 

Quite  another  kind  of  ovation  awaited  Tchaikovsky  in 
Paris.  Here,  too,  his  success  surpassed  his  expectations  ; 
but  the  sympathy  of  the  French  capital  differed  as  widely 
in  character  from  that  which  was  shown  him  in  Prague  as 
the  Czechs  differ  from  the  French  in  their  musical  tastes  and 
their  relations  towards  the  Russians.  There  is  no  country 
in  which  music  is  better  loved,  or  more  widely  understood, 
than  in  Bohemia.  Nor  is  there  any  other  nation  which 
feels  such  appreciation  for  all  that  is  Russian  ;  not  merely 
as  a  matter  of  passing  fashion,  but  on  account  of  actual 
kinship  between  the  Eastern  and  Western  Slav.  In 
Bohemia,  therefore,  both  as  a  musician  and  a  native  of 
Russia,  Tchaikovsky  had  been  received  with  a  warmth 
and  sincerity  hardly  to  be  expected  from  France.  It  is 
true  a  little  political  feeling  influenced  his  reception  in 
Paris;  it  was  just  the  beginning  of  the  Franco-Russian 
rapprochement,  so  that  everything  Russian  was  the  fashion 
of  the  hour.  Many  French  people,  who  were  not  in  the 
least  musical,  regarded  it  as  their  duty  to  express  some 
appreciation  of  Tchaikovsky — simply  because  he  was  a 
Russian.  All  this,  like  the  French  sympathy  itself,  had  no 
solid  foundation  of  national  affinity,  but  merely  sprang 
from  an  ephemeral  political  combination.  The  enthusi- 
astic, explosive,  but  fleeting,  craze  of  the  French  for 
all  that  was  Russian  showed  itself  in  hats  a  la  Kron- 
stadt,  in  shouting  the  Russian  national  anthem  simul- 
taneously with  the  "  Marseillaise,"  in  ovations  to  the  clown 
Durov,  and  in  a  "patronising"  interest  for  our  art  and 


554  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

literature — as  species  of  curiosities — rather  than  in  the 
hearty  relations  of  two  countries  drawn  together  by  true 
affinity  of  aims  and  sympathies.  Naturally  the  festivities 
of  Kronstadt,  Toulon,  and  Paris  led  to  no  real  apprecia- 
tion of  Poushkin,  Gogol,  Ostrovsky,  Glinka,  Dargomijsky, 
or  Serov,  only,  at  the  utmost,  to  a  phase  of  fashion,  thanks 
to  which  Tolstoi  and  Dostoievsky  found  a  certain  super- 
ficial vogue,  without  being  understood  in  their  fullest 
value.  Tchaikovsky  was  also  a  modern,  and  this  lent  a 
kind  of  brilliance  to  his  reception  in  Paris  ;  but  it  was 
purely  external.  ...  It  may  truly  be  said  that  all  Prague 
welcomed  the  composer ;  whereas  in  Paris  only  the 
musicians  and  amateurs,  a  few  newspapers  in  favour  of  the 
Franco-Russian  alliance,  and  that  crowd  which  is  always 
in  pursuit  of  novelty,  were  interested  in  Tchaikovsky's 
visit. 

Time  has  proved  the  respective  value  of  these  ovations. 
Although  it  is  now  fifteen  years  since  Tchaikovsky  visited 
Prague,  his  operas  still  hold  their  own  in  the  repertory  of 
the  theatre,  and  his  symphonic  music  is  still  as  well  known 
there  and  as  much  loved  as  in  Russia.  In  Paris,  on 
the  contrary,  not  only  are  his  works  rarely  given,  either 
on  the  stage  or  in  the  concert-room,  but  his  name — 
although  it  has  gained  in  renown  all  over  Europe — is  not 
considered  worthy  of  inclusion  among  those  which  adorn 
the  programmes  of  the  Conservatoire  concerts.  And  yet 
those  who  are  at  the  head  of  this  institution  are  the  same 
men  who  honoured  him  in  1888.  Is  not  this  a  proof  of 
that  hidden  but  smouldering  antipathy  which  the  French 
really  feel  for  the  Russian  spirit — that  spirit  which 
Tchaikovsky  shares  in  common  with  his  great  predecessors 
in  music,  and  with  the  representatives  of  all  that  Russia 
has  produced  of  lofty  and  imperishable  worth  ? 

Tchaikovsky  arrived  in  Paris  on  February  I2th  (24th), 
and  went  almost  straight  from  the  station  to  the  rehearsal 
of  his  Serenade  for  strings,  which — conducted  by  the  com- 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  555 

poser — was  to  be  played  by  Colonne's  orchestra  at  a  soiree 
given  by  M.  N.  Benardaky. 

N.  Benardaky  had  married  one  of  the  three  sisters 
Leibrock,  operatic  artists  well  known  to  the  Russian 
public.  He  had  a  fine  house  in  Paris,  frequented  by  the 
elite  of  the  artistic  world.  As  a  wealthy  patron  of  art — and 
as  a  fellow-countryman — he  inaugurated  the  festivities  in 
Tchaikovsky's  honour  by  this  musical  evening. 

Over  three  hundred  guests  were  present,  and,  besides  his 
Serenade  for  strings,  Tchaikovsky  conducted  the  Andante 
from  his  Quartet  and  presided  at  the  piano.  The  composer 
was  grateful  to  his  kindly  host  for  the  unexpected  and — 
according  to  Parisian  custom — absolutely  indispensable 
reclame  which  this  entertainment  conferred  upon  him.  To 
ensure  the  success  of  the  evening,  and  in  return  for  the 
service  done  him,  Tchaikovsky  felt  himself  obliged  to  run 
from  rehearsal  to  rehearsal,  from  musician  to  musician. 
To  appear  as  a  conductor  before  this  assemblage  of 
amateurs — more  distinguished  for  vanity  than  for  love  of 
art — and  to  earn  their  languid  approval,  seemed  to  him 
flattering  and  important.  But  when  we  reflect  what  far 
greater  trouble  and  fatigue  this  entailed  upon  him  than 
his  appearance  before  the  Gewandhaus  audience — whose 
opinion  was  really  of  weight  and  value — we  cannot  but 
regret  the  waste  of  energy  and  the  lowering  of  the  artist's 
dignity.  When  we  think  of  him,  exhausted  and  out  of 
humour,  amid  this  crowd  of  fashionably  attired  strangers, 
who  to-morrow  would  be  "consecrating"  the  success  of 
the  latest  chansonette  singer,  or  the  newest  dance  of  a 
Loie  Fuller — we  cannot  but  rebel  against  fate,  who  took 
him  from  his  rural  quiet,  from  the  surroundings  to  which 
he  was  attached,  in  which — sound  in  body  and  mind — it  was 
his  pleasure  to  plan  some  new  composition  in  undisturbed 
solitude.  Thank  God,  my  brother  comforted  himself  with 
the  belief  that  it  was  necessary  to  suffer  this  martyrdom 
cheerfully,  and  that  he  did  not  live  to  realise  that  it  was 


556  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

indeed  useless,  for  nowhere  did  he  make  a  greater  sacrifice 
for  popularity's  sake  with  smaller  results  than  in  Paris. 

Those  musicians  who  had  been  absent  during  Tchai- 
kovsky's visit  to  Paris  in  1886  now  made  his  acquaintance 
for  the  first  time.  All  of  them,  including  Gounod,  Mas- 
senet, Thome"  and  others,  received  him  with  great  cordiality 
and  consideration.  The  sole  exception  was  Reyer,  the 
composer  of  Salammbd,  whose  indifference  was  the  less 
hurtful  to  Tchaikovsky  because  he  did  not  esteem  him 
greatly  as  a  musician.  Of  the  virtuosi  with  whom  he  now 
became  acquainted,  Paderewski  made  the  most  impression 
upon  him. 

Among  the  brilliant  Parisian  gatherings  held  in  Tchai- 
kovsky's honour  must  be  mentioned  the  memorable 
evening  at  Colonne's ;  the  soiree  given  by  the  aristocratic 
amateur,  Baroness  Tresderne,  at  whose  house  in  the 
Place  Vendome  Wagner's  Trilogy  had  been  heard  for  the 
first  time  in  Paris  ("  Marchionesses,  duchesses — bored," 
is  Tchaikovsky's  laconic  entry  in  his  diary  the  day  after 
this  entertainment) ;  the  fete  at  the  Russian  Embassy ;  a 
reception  at  Madame  Pauline  Viardot's ;  and  an  entertain- 
ment arranged  by  the  Figaro. 

Tchaikovsky  made  two  public  appearances  in  the  double 
capacity  of  composer  and  conductor  ;  both  these  were  at 
the  Chatelet  concerts.  At  the  first,  half  the  programme 
was  devoted  to  his  works,  including  the  Serenade  for 
strings,  Fantasia  for  pianoforte  (Louis  Diemer),  Songs 
(Madame  Conneau),  pieces  for  violoncello  (Brandoukov), 
and  Theme  and  Variations  from  the  Third  Suite. 

On  ascending  to  the  conductor's  desk  he  was  received 
with  a  storm  of  applause,  intended  as  much  for  his  nation- 
ality as  for  his  personality.  Of  his  orchestral  works,  the 
Valse  from  the  Serenade  won  most  success,  and  had  to  be 
repeated  in  order  to  satisfy  the  audience. 

The  second  concert,  which  took  place  a  week  later, 
consisted  almost  exclusively  of  Tchaikovsky's  works.  The 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  557 

Variations  from  the  Third  Suite,  the  El£gie,  and  Valse 
from  the  Serenade,  and  the  pieces  for  violoncello  were 
repeated ;  to  which  were  added  the  Violin  Concerto 
(Marsick)  and  Francesco,  da  Rimini.  The  applause  was 
as  vociferous  as  on  the  first  occasion,  although  compara- 
tively little  of  it  fell  to  the  lot  of  Francesca. 

As  long  as  they  dealt  with  the  private  performances  in 
the  houses  of  Benardaky,  Colonne,  Madame  Tresderne, 
or  at  the  Figaro ',  the  representatives  of  the  Paris  Press 
spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  composer,  of  his  works,  and 
his  nationality.  After  the  public  concerts,  however,  there 
was  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  and  their  fervour  waned.  It 
seemed  they. had  most  of  them  studied  Cui's  book,  La 
Musique  en  Russze,  to  good  purpose,  for,  without  quoting 
their  source  of  information,  they  discovered  that  Tchai- 
kovsky "  was  not  so  Russian  as  people  imagined,"  that  he 
did  not  display  "much  audacity  or  a  strong  originality," 
wherein  lay  the  chief  charm  of  the  great  Slavs :  Borodin, 
Cui,  Rimsky-Korsakov,  Liadov,  etc. 

The  Western  cosmopolitanism  of  Tchaikovsky's  works 
was  made  a  subject  of  reproach.  "  The  German  dominates 
and  absorbs  the  Slav,"  says  one  critic,  who  had  looked  for 
"  impressions  exotiques "  at  the  Chatelet — perhaps  for 
something  in  the  style  of  the  music  of  Dahomey,  which 
had  created  such  a  sensation  at  the  Jardin  d'Acclima- 
tation. 

The  remaining  critics,  who  had  not  read  Cui's  book,  dis- 
approved of  the  length  of  Tchaikovsky's  works,  and  held 
up  to  him  as  models,  Saint-Saens  and  other  modern 
French  composers.  His  own  sense  of  disappointment 
appears  in  a  letter  addressed  to  P.  Jurgenson  towards  the 
end  of  his  visit : — 

"  I  have  expended  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  even 
more  health  and  strength,"  he  writes.1  "In  return  I  have 

1  In  a  later  letter  to  Jurgenson  he  says :  "  One  has  to  choose  between 
never  travelling,  or  coming  home  with  empty  pockets.  I  had  hardly  decided 


558  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

gained  some  celebrity,  but  every  hour  I  ask  myself—- 
Why? Is  it  worth  while?  And  I  come  to  the  conclusion 
it  is  far  better  to  live  quietly  without  fame." 

From  Paris  Tchaikovsky  crossed  to  England. 

"The  journey  to  London  was  terrible,"  he  wrote  to 
Nadejda  von  Meek.  "  Our  train  was  brought  to  a  stand- 
still in  the  open  country  in  consequence  of  a  snowstorm. 
On  the  steamer  it  was  alarming,  for  the  storm  was  so 
severe  that  every  moment  we  dreaded  some  catastrophe." 

Tchaikovsky  only  spent  four  days  in  London.  No  one 
welcomed  him,  no  one  paid  him  special  attention,  or 
worried  him  with  invitations.  Except  for  a  complimentary 
dinner  given  to  him  by  Berger,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Philharmonic  Society,  he  spent  his  time  alone,  or  in  the 
society  of  the  violinist  Ondricek  and  his  wife.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  appearances,  his  visit  to  London  had  brilliant 
results  for  his  future  reputation.  Next  to  Russia  and 
America  his  music  at  present  is  nowhere  more  popular 
than  in  England. 

He  conducted  the  Serenade  for  strings  and  the  Varia- 
tions from  the  Third  Suite.  "The  success  was  great," 
he  wrote,  in  the  letter  quoted  above.  "The  Serenade 
pleased  most,  and  I  was  recalled  three  times,  which  means 
a  good  deal  from  the  reserved  London  public.  The  Varia- 
tions were  not  so  much  liked,  but  all  the  same  they 
elicited  hearty  applause." 

The  leading  London  papers  mostly  gave  Tchaikovsky 
the  credit  of  a  signal  success.  The  Musical  Times 

to  throw  up  everything  and  fly  home,  when  paid  engagements  were  offered 
me  on  all  sides ;  at  Angers,  with  a  fee  of  ^40 ;  the  same  at  Geneva,  in 
London  (at  the  Crystal  Palace)  for  a  sum  not  stated ;  but  I  gave  them  all  up. 
You  are  mistaken  in  your  calculations  as  to  the  result  of  my  journey.  For 
London  I  received  £2$  instead  of  £ZQ  (thanks  to  my  great  success,  the 
Directors  of  the  Philharmonic  were  moved  to  add  an  extra  ^5),  and  you 
omitted  the  ^"25  from  Hamburg.  My  journey  was  certainly  not  a  financial 
success ;  but  I  did  not  undertake  it  for  the  sake  of  the  money." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  559 

only  regretted  that  he  had  not  chosen  some  more  serious 
work  for  his  debut  before  the  London  public.  "  The 
Russian  composer  was  received  with  signs  of  unanimous 
approbation,"  said  the  Times,  while  the  Daily  Chronicle 
felt  convinced  that  Tchaikovsky  must  have  been  fully 
satisfied  with  the  extraordinarily  warm  welcome  accorded 
him  by  the  Londoners. 

"Thus  ended  the  torments, fears, agitations, and — to  speak 
the  truth — the  joys  of  my  first  concert  tour  abroad."  In 
these  words  Tchaikovsky  concludes  his  letter  to  N.  F.  von 
Meek,  from  which  the  above  extracts  have  been  quoted. 


in 

After  a  long  journey — six  nights  in  the  train — Tchai- 
kovsky reached  Tiflis  on  March  26th  (April  7th),  1888. 
Here  he  stayed  with  his  brother  Hyppolite,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  two  years.  About  the  end  of  April  he 
travelled  north  to  take  possession  of  the  country  house  at 
Frolovskoe,  which  had  been  prepared  for  him  during  his 
absence  by  his  servant  Alexis.  He  describes  it  as  a  highly 
picturesque  spot,  lying  on  a  wooded  hill  on  the  way  from 
Moscow  to  Klin.  It  was  simpler  and  not  so  well  furnished 
as  Maidanovo.  There  was  no  park  planted  with  lime 
trees,  there  were  no  marble  vases ;  but  its  unpretentious- 
ness  was  an  added  recommendation  in  Tchaikovsky's 
eyes.  Here  he  could  be  alone,  free  from  summer  excur- 
sionists, to  enjoy  the  little  garden  (with  its  charming  pool 
and  tiny  islet)  fringed  by  the  forest,  behind  which  the 
view  opened  out  upon  a  distant  stretch  of  country — upon 
that  homely,  unassuming  landscape  of  Central  Russia 
which  Tchaikovsky  preferred  to  all  the  sublimities  of 
Switzerland,  the  Caucasus,  and  Italy.  Had  not  the  forest 
been  gradually  exterminated,  he  would  never  have  quitted 
Frolovskoe,  for  although  he  only  lived  there  for  three 


5<5o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

years,  he  became  greatly  attached  to  the  place.  A  month 
before  his  death,  travelling  from  Klin  to  Moscow,  he  said, 
looking  out  at  the  churchyard  of  Frolovskoe :  "  I  should 
like  to  be  buried  there." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KLIN,  May  i$th  (2*1  th\  1888. 

"  I  am  in  love  with  Frolovskoe.  The  neighbourhood 
is  a  paradise  after  Maidanovo.  It  is,  indeed,  so  beautiful 
that  when  I  go  out  for  half  an  hour's  walk  in  the  morning, 
I  feel  compelled  to  extend  it  to  two  hours.  ...  I  have 
not  yet  begun  to  work,  excepting  at  some  corrections. 
To  speak  frankly,  I  feel  as  yet  no  impulse  for  creative 
work.  What  does  this  mean?  Have  I  written  myself 
out  ?  No  ideas,  no  inclination  ?  Still  I  am  hoping  gradu- 
ally to  collect  material  for  a  symphony. 

"To-day  we  were  to  have  sown  seeds  and  planted 
flowers  in  the  beds  in  front  of  the  house.  I  was  looking 
forward  to  it  with  such  pleasure,  but  the  rain  has  hindered 
us.  By  the  time  you  arrive  all  our  seeds  will  be  in." 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"FROLOVSKOE,  May  $o/A  (June  nth),  1888. 

"YOUR  HIGHNESS,— I  am  very  glad  you  were  not 
offended  by  my  remarks,  and  thank  you  most  heartily 
for  your  explanations  in  reference  to  them.1  In  matters 
of  versification  I  am  only  an  amateur,  but  have  long 
wished  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  subject. 
So  far,  I  have  only  reached  the  stage  of  inquiry.  Many 
questions  interest  me  to  which  no  one  seems  able  to  give 
a  clear  and  decided  reply.  For  instance,  when  I  read 
Joukovsky's  translation  of  the  Odyssey,  or  his  Undine,  or 
Gniedich's  version  of  the  Iliad,  I  suffer  under  the  intoler- 
able monotony  of  the  Russian  hexameter  as  compared 
with  the  Latin  (I  do  not  know  the  Greek),  which  has 
strength,  beauty,  and  variety.  I  know  that  the  fault  lies 
in  the  fact  that  we  do  not  use  the  spondee,  but  I  cannot 

1  The  Grand  Duke  Constantine  had  sent  Tchaikovsky  a  volume  of  his 
verses. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY      .      561 

understand  why  this  should  be.  To  my  mind  we  ought 
to  employ  it.  Another  question  that  greatly  occupies  me 
is  why,  as  compared  with  Russian  poetry,  German  verse 
should  be  less  severe  in  the  matter  of  regular  rhythm  and 
metre.  When  I  read  Goethe  I  am  astonished  at  his 
audacity  as  regards  metrical  feet,  the  caesura,  etc.,  which 
he  carries  so  far  that,  to  an  unpractised  ear,  many  of  his 
verses  scarcely  seem  like  verse.  At  the  same  time,  the 
ear  is  only  taken  by  surprise — not  offended.  Were  a 
Russian  poet  to  do  the  same,  one  would  be  conscious 
of  a  certain  lameness.  Is  it  in  consequence  of  the 
peculiar  qualities  of  our  language,  or  because  tradition 
allows  greater  freedom  to  the  Germans  than  to  us  ?  I  do 
not  know  if  I  express  myself  correctly  ;  I  only  state  that, 
as  regards  regularity,  refinement,  and  euphony,  much 
more  is  expected  from  the  Russian  than  from  the  German 
poet.  I  should  be  glad  to  find  some  explanation  of 
this.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  FROLOVSKOE, /««<?  isf(i^/i)t  1888. 

" .  .  .  .  Just  now  I  am  busy  with  flowers  and  flower- 
growing.  I  should  like  to  have  as  many  flowers  as  possible 
in  my  garden,  but  I  have  very  little  knowledge  or  ex- 
perience. I  am  not  lacking  in  zeal,  and  have  indeed  taken 
cold  from  pottering  about  in  the  damp.  Now,  thank 
goodness,  it  is  warmer  weather ;  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  you, 
for  myself,  and  for  my  dear  flowers,  for  I  have  sown 
a  quantity,  and  the  cold  nights  made  me  anxious  for 
them " 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"FROLOVSKOE,/^  ivth  (22nd\  1888. 

" .  .  .  .  Now  I  shall  work  my  hardest.  I  am  dreadfully 
anxious  to  prove  not  only  to  others,  but  also  to  myself, 
that  I  am  not  yet  played  out  as  a  composer.  .  .  .  Have  I 
already  told  you  that  I  intend  to  write  a  symphony  ?  The 
beginning  was  difficult ;  now,  however,  inspiration  seems 
to  have  come.  We  shall  see  ! " 


2  o 


562  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"  FROLOVSKOE,  June  nth  (23^),  1888. 

"  YOUR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS, — I  am  the  more  glad  to 
hear  your  favourable  verdict  upon  my  songs,  because  I  was 
afraid  you  would  think  them  weak.  ...  I  composed  them 
at  a  time  when  my  state  of  mind  was  anything  but  promis- 
ing for  good  work.  At  the  same  time,  I  did  not  wish  to 
postpone  the  setting  of  your  words,  as  I  had  informed  you 
long  ago  of  my  intention  with  regard  to  them.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  not  at  all  astonished  that  you  should  write  beauti- 
ful verses  without  being  an  adept  in  the  science  of  versifi- 
cation. Several  of  our  poets — Plestcheiev  for  one — have 
told  me  the  same.  All  the  same,  I  think  it  would  be  better 
if  some  of  our  gifted  Russian  poets  were  more  interested 
in  the  technique  of  their  art.  '  I  am  sick  of  four  iambic 
feet/  said  Poushkin,  and  I  would  add  that  sometimes  his 
readers  get  weary  of  it  too.  To  discover  new  metres  and 
rare  rhythmic  combinations  must  be  very  interesting.  Were 
I  a  poet,  I  should  certainly  try  to  write  in  varied  rhythms 
like  the  Germans.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  FROLOVSKOE,  June  22nd  (July  tfti),  1888. 

".  .  .  .  Lately  I  have  been  in  frequent  correspondence 
with  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich,  who 
sent  me  his  poem, '  St.  Sebastian/  with  the  request  that  I 
would  say  what  I  thought  of  it.  On  the  whole  I  liked  it, 
but  I  criticised  a  few  details  very  freely.  He  was  pleased 
with  this,  but  defended  himself,  and  thus  a  brisk  exchange 
of  letters  has  taken  place.  He  is  not  only  gifted,  but  sur- 
prisingly modest,  devoted  to  art,  and  ambitious  to  excel 
in  it  rather  than  in  the  service.  He  is  also  an  excellent 
musician — in  fact,  a  rare  and  sympathetic  nature. 

"  It  is  well  that  the  political  horizon  is  clearer,  and  if  it 
be  true  that  the  German  Emperor  is  to 'visit  Russia,  we 
may  say  with  some  certainty  that  the  horrors  of  war  will 
not  break  out  for  many  years  to  come.  .  .  ." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  563 

Diary. 

" June  2>jth  (July  gth),  1888. 

"  It  seems  to  me  letters  are  not  perfectly  sincere — I  am 
judging  by  myself.  No  matter  to  whom  I  am  writing,  I 
am  always  conscious  of  the  effect  of  my  letter,  not  only 
upon  the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed,  but  upon  any 
chance  reader.  Consequently  I  embroider.  I  often  take 
pains  to  make  the  tone  of  a  letter  simple  and  sincere — at 
least  to  make  it  appear  so.  But  apart  from  letters  written 
at  the  moment  when  I  am  worked  upon,  I  am  never  quite 
myself  in  my  correspondence.  These  letters  are  to  me  a 
source  of  repentance,  and  often  of  agonising  regret.  When 
I  read  the  correspondence  of  great  men,  published  after 
their  death,  I  am  always  disturbed  by  a  vague  sense  of 
insincerity  and  falsehood. 

"  I  will  go  on  with  the  record  of  my  musical  predilections 
which  I  began  some  time  ago.  What  are  my  feelings  to- 
wards the  Russian  composers  ? 

GLINKA. 

"  An  unheard-of  and  astonishing  apparition  in  the  world 
of  art.  A  dilettante  who  played  the  violin  and  the  piano 
a  little ;  who  concocted  a  few  insipid  quadrilles  and 
fantasias  upon  Italian  airs ;  who  tried  his  hand  at  more 
serious  musical  forms  (songs,  quartets,  sextets,  etc.),  but 
accomplished  nothing  which  rose  superior  to  the  jejune 
taste  of  the  thirties ;  suddenly,  in  his  thirty-fourth  year, 
creates  an  opera,  which  for  inspiration,  originality,  and 
irreproachable  technique,  is  worthy  to  stand  beside  all  that 
is  loftiest  and  most  profound  in  musical  art !  We  are  still 
more  astonished  when  we  reflect  that  the  composer  of 
this  work  is  the  author  of  the  Memoirs  published  some 
twenty  years  later.  The  latter  give  one  the  impression  of 
a  nice,  kind,  commonplace  man,  with  not  much  to  say  for 
himself.  Like  a  nightmare,  the  questions  continually 
haunt  me  :  How  could  such  colossal  artistic  force  be  united 
to  such  emptiness  ?  and  how  came  this  average  amateur 
to  catch  up  in  a  single  stride  such  men  as  Mozart  and 
Beethoven  ?  Yes,  for  he  has  overtaken  them.  One  may 
say  this  without  exaggeration  of  the  composer  of  the 


564  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

'Slavsia.'  This  question  may  be  answered  by  those  who 
are  better  fitted  than  myself  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of 
the  artistic  spirit  which  makes  its  habitation  in  such  fragile 
and  apparently  unpromising  shrines.  I  can  only  say  no 
one  loves  and  appreciates  Glinka  more  than  I  do.  I  am 
no  indiscriminate  worshipper  of  Russian  ;  on  the  contrary, 
I  am  disposed  to  prefer  A  Life  for  the  Tsar,  although 
Russian  may  perhaps  be  of  greater  musical  worth.  But 
the  elemental  force  is  more  perceptible  in  his  earlier  opera  ; 
the  *  Slavsia '  is  overwhelming  and  gigantic.  For  this  he 
employed  no  model.  Neither  Gliick  nor  Mozart  composed 
anything  similar.  Astounding,  inconceivable  !  Kamarin- 
skaya  is  also  a  work  of  remarkable  inspiration.  Without 
intending  to  compose  anything  beyond  a  simple,  humorous 
trifle,  he  has  left  us  a  little  masterpiece,  every  bar  of  which 
is  the  outcome  of  enormous  creative  power.  Half  a  century 
has  passed  since  then,  and  many  Russian  symphonic 
works  have  been  composed ;  we  may  even  speak  of  a 
symphonic  school.  Well  ?  The  germ  of  all  this  lies  in 
Kamarinskaya%  as  the  oak  tree  lies  in  the  acorn.  For  long 
years  to  come  Russian  composers  will  drink  at  this  source, 
for  it  will  need  much  time  and  much  strength  to  exhaust 
its  wealth  of  inspiration.  Yes  !  Glinka  was  a  true  creative 
genius!" 

To  N.  F.    Von  Meek. 
"  FROLOVSKOE,  July  17^  (29^),  1888. 

" .  .  .  .  My  name-day  was  a  great  interruption  to  my 
work,  for  my  visitors  arrived  the  day  before  and  only  left 
yesterday  evening.  My  guests  were  Laroche  and  his 
wife,  Jurgenson,  Albrecht,  Siloti,  and  Zet,1  who  arrived  quite 
unexpectedly  from  Petersburg.  The  last  named  (who  has 
been  highly  recommended  to  me)  has  been  my  concert 
agent  since  May.  .  .  .  He  is  a  great  admirer  of  my  work, 
and  cares  less  to  make  money  out  of  his  position  than  to 
forward  my  interests  in  Europe  and  America.  .  .  . 

1  Julius  Zet  had  been  secretary  to  Sophie  Menter,  and  so  became  acquainted 
with  Tchaikovsky.  Their  friendship  lasted  until  the  latter's  death,  but  their 
business  relations  were  of  brief  duration.  Zet  was  not  sufficiently  calculating. 
Rather  an  enthusiast  than  a  man  of  business,  he  was  unpractical  and 
inaccurate. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  565 

At  this  time  Tchaikovsky  received  an  offer  from  an 
American  impresario  offering  him  a  three  months'  concert 
tour  at  a  fee  of  25,000  dollars.  The  sum  appeared  to  the 
Russian  composer  fabulous  in  its  amount.  "Should  this 
really  come  off,"  he  says,  "  I  could  realise  my  long- 
cherished  wish  to  become  a  landowner." 

Diary. 

"July  13^(25^),  1888. 

"  Dargomijsky  ?  Certainly  he  was  a  gifted  man.  But 
never  was  the  type  of  amateur  musician  more  strikingly 
realised  than  in  him.  Glinka,  too,  was  a  dilettante,  but 
his  immense  inspiration  served  him  as  a  defence  from 
amateurishness.  Except  for  his  fatal  Memoirs,  we 
should  not  have  realised  his  dilettantism.  It  is  another 
matter  with  Dargomijsky:  his  amateurishness  lies  in  his 
creative  work,  in  his  very  forms  themselves.  To  possess 
an  average  talent,  to  be  weak  in  technique  and  yet  to  pose 
as  an  innovator — is  pure  amateurishness.  When,  at  the 
close  of  his  life,  Dargomijsky  composed  The  Stone  Guest, 
he  seriously  believed  he  had  overturned  the  old  foundations 
and  erected  something  new  and  colossal  in  their  place. 
A  piteous  error ;  I  saw  him  in  this  last  period  of  his  life, 
and  in  view  of  his  suffering  condition  (he  had  a  heart 
disease)  there  could  be  no  question  of  a  discussion.  But 
I  have  never  come  in  contact  with  anything  more  anti- 
pathetic and  false  than  this  unsuccessful  attempt  to  drag 
truth  into  this  sphere  of  art,  in  which  everything  is  based 
upon  falsehood,  and  "  truth,"  in  the  everyday  sense  of  the 
word,  is  not  required  at  all.  Dargomijsky  was  no  master 
(he  had  not  a  tenth  part  of  Glinka's  mastership).  He 
possessed  a  certain  originality  and  piquancy.  He  was 
most  successful  in  curiosities.  But  artistic  beauty  does  not 
lie  in  this  direction,  as  so  many  of  us  think. 

"  I  might  speak  personally  of  Dargomijsky  (I  frequently 
saw  him  in  Moscow  at  the  time  of  his  success  there),  but 
I  prefer  not  to  recall  my  acquaintance.  He  was  very 
cutting  and  unjust  in  his  judgments  (when  he  raged  against 
the  brothers  Rubinstein,  for  instance),  but  was  pleased 
to  talk  of  himself  in  a  tone  of  self-laudation.  During  his 


566  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

fatal  illness  he  became  far  more  kindly  disposed,  and 
showed  much  cordial  feeling  to  his  younger  colleagues.  I 
will  only  keep  this  memory  of  him.  Unexpectedly  he 
showed  me  great  sympathy  (in  respect  of  my  opera 
The  Voyevode}.1  Apparently  he  did  not  believe  the  report 
that  I  had  hissed  at  the  first  performance  of  his  Esmeralda 
in  Moscow." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  FROLOVSKOE,  July  2$th  (August  6th},  1888. 
"...  The  real  summer  weather  has  not  lasted  long, 
but  how  I  enjoyed  it !  My  flowers,  which  I  feared  would 
die,  have  nearly  all  recovered,  and  some  have  blossomed 
luxuriantly.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  pleasure  it  has  been 
to  watch  them  grow  and  to  see  daily — even  hourly — new 
blossoms  coming  out.  Now  I  have  as  many  as  I  want. 
When  I  am  quite  old,  and  past  composing,  I  shall  devote 
myself  to  growing  flowers.  I  have  been  working  with 
good  results,  and  half  the  symphony  is  orchestrated.  My 
age — although  not  very  advanced — begins  to  tell.  I  get 
very  tired  now,  and  can  no  longer  play  or  read  at  night  as 
I  used.  Lately  I  miss  the  chance  of  a  game  of  vint*  in 
the  evenings ;  it  is  the  one  thing  that  rests  and  distracts 
me." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"FROLOVSKOE,  August  \qth  (26^),  1888. 

"  Again  I  am  not  feeling  well  .  .  .  but  I  am  so  glad  to 
have  finished  the  Symphony  (No.  5)  that  I  can  forget  all 
physical  ailments.  I  have  made  no  settled  plans  for  the 
winter.  There  is  a  prospect  of  a  tour  in  Scandinavia  and 
also  in  America.  But  nothing  is  decided  as  to  the  first, 
and  the  second  seems  so  fantastic  that  I  can  hardly  give  it 
a  serious  thought.  I  have  promised  to  conduct  at  Dresden, 
Berlin,  and  Prague.  ...  In  November  I  am  to  conduct  a 
whole  series  of  my  works  in  Petersburg  (at  the  Phil- 
harmonic), including  the  new  Symphony.  They  also  want 
me  in  Tiflis,  but  I  do  not  know  if  it  will  come  off." 

1  Unfortunately  it  will  always  remain  unknown  in  what  way  this  sympathy 
was  shown  to  Tchaikovsky. 

2  A  favourite  game  of  cards  in  Russia. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  567 

IV 
1888-1889 

The  winter  season  1888-1889  opened  with  much  arduous 
work  and  personal  anxiety.  Tchaikovsky's  niece,  Vera, 
the  second  daughter  of  his  sister  Alexandra  Davidov,  was 
in  a  dying  condition,  and  his  old  friend  Hubert  was  suffer- 
ing from  a  terrible  form  of  intermittent  fever.  One  gleam 
of  joy  shone  through  the  darkness.  His  Moscow  friends, 
Taneiev  in  particular,  were  delighted  with  the  Fifth 
Symphony,  a  work  which  had  filled  Tchaikovsky  himself 
with  gloomy  misgivings.  At  this  time  he  was  engaged  in 
an  active  correspondence  upon  music  and  poetry  with  the 
Grand  Duke  Constantine. 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantinovich. 
"FROLOVSKOE,  September  2ist  (October  yd),  1888. 

"...  Fet l  is  quite  right  in  asserting,  as  you  say  he 
does,  that  'all  which  has  no  connection  with  the  leading 
idea  should  be  cast  aside,  even  though  it  is  beautiful  and 
melodious.'  But  we  must  not  deduce  from  this  that  only 
what  is  terse  can  be  highly  artistic ;  therefore,  to  my  mind, 
Fet's  rule  that  an  exemplary  lyric  must  not  exceed  a 
certain  limit  is  entirely  wrong.  All  depends  upon  the 
nature  of  the  leading  idea  and  the  poet  who  expresses  it. 
Of  two  equally  inspired  poets,  or  composers,  one,  by 
reason  of  his  artistic  temperament,  will  show  greater 
breadth  of  treatment,  more  complexity  in  the  development 
of  the  leading  idea,  and  a  greater  inclination  for  luxuriant 
and  varied  elaboration ;  while  the  other  will  express  him- 
self concisely.  All  that  is  good,  but  superfluous,  we  call 
1  padding.'  Can  we  say  we  find  this  padding  in  Beethoven's 
works  ?  I  think  most  decidedly  we  do  not.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  astonishing  how  equal,  how  significant  and 
forceful,  this  giant  among  musicians  always  remains,  and 

1  A  well-known  Russian  poet. 


568  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

how  well  he  understands  the  art  of  curbing  his  vast  inspira- 
tion, and  never  loses  sight  of  balanced  and  traditional 
form.  In  his  last  quartets,  which  were  long  regarded  as 
the  productions  of  an  insane  and  deaf  man,  there  seems 
to  be  some  padding,  until  we  have  studied  them  thoroughly. 
But  ask  someone  who  is  well  acquainted  with  these 
works,  a  member  of  a  quartet  who  plays  them  frequently, 
if  there  is  anything  superfluous  in  the  C  #  minor  Quartet. 
Unless  he  is  an  old-fashioned  musician,  brought  up  upon 
Haydn,  he  would  be  horrified  at  the  idea  of  abbreviating 
or  cutting  any  portion  of  it.  In  speaking  of  Beethoven  I 
was  not  merely  thinking  of  his  latest  period.  Could  any- 
one show  me  a  bar  in  the  Eroica,  which  is  very  lengthy, 
that  could  be  called  superfluous,  or  any  portion  that  could 
really  be  omitted  as  padding?  So  everything  that  is  long 
is  not  too  long;  many  words  do  not  necessarily  mean 
empty  verbiage,  and  terseness  is  not,  as  Fet  asserts,  the 
essential  condition  of  beautiful  form.  Beethoven,  who  in 
the  first  movement  of  the  Eroica  has  built  up  a  superb 
edifice  out  of  an  endless  series  of  varied  and  ever  new 
architectural  beauties  upon  so  simple  and  seemingly  poor 
a  subject,  knows  on  occasion  how  to  surprise  us  by  the 
terseness  and  exiguity  of  his  forms.  Do  you  remember 
the  Andante  of  the  Pianoforte  Concerto  in  B  flat?  I  know 
nothing  more  inspired  than  this  short  movement ;  I  go 
cold  and  pale  every  time  I  hear  it. 

"Of  course,  the  classical  beauty  of  Beethoven's  prede- 
cessors, and  their  art  of  keeping  within  bounds,  is  of  the 
greatest  value.  It  must  be  owned,  however,  that  Haydn 
had  no  occasion  to  limit  himself,  for  he  had  not  an  inex- 
haustible wealth  of  material  at  command.  As  to  Mozart, 
had  he  lived  another  twenty  years,  and  seen  the  beginning 
of  our  century,  he  would  certainly  have  sought  to  express 
his  prodigal  inspiration  in  forms  less  strictly  classical  than 
those  with  which  he  had  to  content  himself. 

"  While  defending  Beethoven  from  the  charge  of  long- 
windedness,  I  confess  that  the  post  -  Beethoven  music 
offers  many  examples  of  prolixity  which  is  often  carried 
so  far  as  to  become  mere  padding.  That  inspired  musician 
who  expresses  himself  with  such  breadth,  majesty,  force, 
and  even  brusqueness,  has  much  in  common  with  Michael 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  569 

Angelo.  Just  as  the  Abb6  Bernini  has  flooded  Rome 
with  his  statues,  in  which  he  strives  to  imitate  the  style  of 
Michael  Angelo,  without  possessing  his  genius,  and  makes  a 
caricature  of  what  is  really  powerful  in  his  model,  so  Beet- 
hoven's musical  style  has  been  copied  over  and  over  again. 
Is  not  Brahms  in  reality  a  caricature  of  Beethoven  ?  Is 
not  this  pretension  to  profundity  and  power  detestable, 
because  the  content  which  is  poured  into  the  Beethoven 
mould  is  not  really  of  any  value  ?  Even  in  the  case  of 
Wagner  (who  certainly  has  genius),  wherever  he  oversteps 
the  limits  it  is  the  spirit  of  Beethoven  which  prompts 
him. 

"  As  regards  your  humble  servant,  I  have  suffered  all 
my  life  from  my  incapacity  to  grasp  form  in  general.  I  have 
fought  against  this  innate  weakness,  not — I  am  proud  to  say 
— without  good  results ;  yet  I  shall  go  to  my  grave  without 
having  produced  anything  really  perfect  in  form.  There 
is  frequently  padding  in  my  works ;  to  an  experienced 
eye  the  stitches  show  in  my  seams,  but  I  cannot  help  it. 
As  to  Manfred,  I  may  tell  you — without  any  desire  to 
pose  as  being  modest — that  this  is  a  repulsive  work,  and 
I  hate  it,  with  the  exception  of  the  first  movement.  I 
intend  shortly,  with  the  consent  of  my  publisher,  to 
destroy  the  remaining  three  movements  and  make  a 
symphonic  poem  out  of  this  long-winded  symphony. 
I  am  sure  my  Manfred  would  then  please  the  public.  I 
enjoyed  writing  the  first  movement,  whereas  the  others 
were  the  outcome  of  strenuous  effort,  in  consequence  of 
which — as  far  as  I  remember — I  felt  quite  ill  for  a  time. 
I  should  not  think  of  being  offended  at  what  your 
Highness  says  about  Manfred.  You  are  quite  right  and 
even  too  indulgent." 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"FROLOVSKOE,  October  2nd  (14^),  1888. 

"YOUR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS, — Just  returned  from 
Moscow,  where  I  have  seen  my  poor  friend  Hubert  laid  in 
his  grave,  and  still  depressed  by  my  painful  experiences, 
I  hasten  to  answer  your  letter.  .  .  .  Your  Highness  must 
bear  in  mind  that  although  one  art  stands  in  close  relation- 


5/0  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

ship  to  the  other,  at  the  same  time  each  has  its  peculiari- 
ties. As  such  we  must  regard  the  "verbal  repetitions" 
which  are  only  possible  to  a  limited  extent  in  literature, 
but  are  a  necessity  in  music.  Beethoven  never  repeats  an 
entire  movement  without  a  special  reason,  and,  in  doing 
so,  rarely  fails  to  introduce  something  new ;  but  he  has 
recourse  to  this  characteristic  method  in  his  instrumental 
music,  knowing  that  his  idea  will  only  be  understood  after 
many  statements.  I  cannot  understand  why  your  High- 
ness should  object  to  the  constant  repetition  of  the 
subject  in  the  Scherzo  of  the  Ninth  Symphony.  I 
always  want  to  hear  it  over  and  over  again.  It  is  so 
divinely  beautiful,  strong,  original,  and  significant !  It  is 
quite  another  matter  with  the  prolixity  and  repetitions 
of  Schubert,  who,  with  all  his  genius,  constantly  harps 
upon  his  central  idea — as  in  the  Andante  of  the  C  major 
Symphony.  Beethoven  develops  his  first  idea  fully,  in  its 
entirety,  before  repeating  it ;  Schubert  seems  too  indolent 
to  elaborate  his  first  idea,  and — perhaps  from  his  unusual 
wealth  of  thematic  material — hurries  on  the  beginning  to 
arrive  at  something  else.  It  seems  as  though  the  stress 
of  his  inexhaustible  inspiration  hindered  him  from  the 
careful  elaboration  of  the  theme,  in  all  its  depth  and 
delicacy  of  workmanship. 

"  God  grant  I  may  be  in  Petersburg  to  hear  the  per- 
formance of  Mozart's  Requiem  in  the  Marble  Palace.  I 
hope  your  Highness  will  permit  me  to  be  present  at  this 
concert.  The  Requiem  is  one  of  the  most  divine  creations, 
and  we  can  but  pity  those  who  are  unable  to  appreciate  it. 

"  As  regards  Brahms,  I  cannot  at  all  agree  with  your 
Highness.  In  the  music  of  this  master  (it  is  impossible  to 
deny  his  mastery)  there  is  something  dry  and  cold  which 
repulses  me.  He  has  very  little  melodic  invention.  He 
never  speaks  out  his  musical  ideas  to  the  end.  Scarcely 
do  we  hear  an  enjoyable  melody,  than  it  is  engulfed  in  a 
whirlpool  of  unimportant  harmonic  progressions  and 
modulations,  as  though  the  special  aim  of  the  composer 
was  to  be  unintelligible.  He  excites  and  irritates  our 
musical  senses  without  wishing  to  satisfy  them,  and  seems 
ashamed  to  speak  the  language  which  goes  straight  to  the 
heart.  His  depth  is  not  real :  c'est  voulu.  He  has  set 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  571 

before  himself,  once  and  for  all,  the  aim  of  trying  to  be 
profound,  but  he  has  only  attained  to  an  appearance  of 
profundity.  The  gulf  is  void.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
that  the  music  of  Brahms  is  weak  and  insignificant.  His 
style  is  invariably  lofty.  He  does  not  strive  after  mere 
external  effects.  He  is  never  trivial.  All  he  does  is 
serious  and  noble,  but  he  lacks  the  chief  thing — beauty. 
Brahms  commands  our  respect.  We  must  bow  before  the 
original  purity  of  his  aspirations.  We  must  admire  his 
firm  and  proud  attitude  in  the  face  of  triumphant 
Wagnerism  ;  but  to  love  him  is  impossible.  I,  at  least,  in 
spite  of  much  effort,  have  not  arrived  at  it.  I  will  own 
that  certain  early  works  (the  Sextet  in  B  b)  please  me  far 
more  than  those  of  a  later  period,  especially  the  sym- 
phonies, which  seem  to  me  indescribably  long  and  colour- 
less. .  .  .  Many  Brahms  lovers  (Bulow,  among  others) 
predicted  that  some  day  I  should  see  clearer,  and  learn  to 
appreciate  beauties  which  do  not  as  yet  appeal  to  me. 
This  is  not  unlikely,  for  there  have  been  such  cases.  I  do 
not  know  the  German  Requiem  well.  I  will  get  it  and 
study  it.  Who  knows? — perhaps  my  views  on  Brahms 
may  undergo  a  complete  revolution." 

To  Ippolitov-Ivanov. 

"  October  27  th  (November  8M),  1888. 

"  I  cannot  possibly  give  you  any  definite  news  as  to  my 
journey  to  Tiflis.  It  will  be  two  or  three  weeks,  at  the 
earliest,  before  I  know  when  I  shall  have  to  go  abroad. 
...  I  only  know  that  I  will  come  to  Tiflis,  even  if  I  am 
dying.  As  to  my  fee,  we  will  not  speak  of  it.  Before  I 
take  anything  from  you,  something  must  be  there.  Let  us 
see  how  the  concert  succeeds,  and  then  we  can  settle  how 
much  you  shall  give  me  as  '  a  tip.5  If  it  is  not  a  success, 
I  shall  accept  nothing." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  FROLOVSKOE,  October  27 th  (November  8//fc),  1888. 

"  Now  we  are  having  sharp  frosts,  without  snow,  and 
fine,  sunny  days.  It  depresses  me  to  think  that  I  must 


572  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

soon  leave  my  quiet  home,  my  regular  life,  and  daily  con- 
stitutionals. Three  days  hence  I  go  to  Petersburg,  where 
my  concert  takes  place  on  November  5th  (i7th).  On  the 
1 2th  (24th)  I  take  part  in  the  Musical  Society's  concert, 
and  leave  for  Prague  the  next  day  to  attend  the  rehearsals 
for  Eugene  Oniegin.  I  have  been  working  very  hard  lately. 
The  orchestration  of  the  Hamlet  overture  is  now  finished. 
I  have  made  innumerable  corrections  in  the  Symphony, 
and  have  been  preparing  everything  I  have  to  conduct  at 
the  forthcoming  concerts. 

"  I  hope  to  spend  December  here,  for  I  have  to  return 
direct  from  Prague  in  order  to  conduct  the  new  Sym- 
phony in  Moscow,  and  then  I  shall  hasten  to  my  harbour 
of  refuge." 

The  Philharmonic  concert  in  St.  Petersburg  was  ap- 
parently a  great  success,  but  the  Press  notices  of  the 
new  Symphony  (No.  5)  were  far  from  satisfactory.  On 
November  I2th  (24th)  Tchaikovsky  conducted  it  once 
more  at  the  Musical  Society,  and  on  this  occasion  the 
fantasia-overture  Hamlet  was  heard  for  the  first  time.  Both 
works  were  well  received  by  the  public. 


V 

On  this  occasion  Prague  received  Tchaikovsky  less 
hospitably  than  on  his  first  visit.  "  The  rehearsal,"  he 
wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek,  "  took  place  the  very  day  I 
arrived.  Last  year,  if  you  remember,  I  conducted  two 
grand  patriotic  concerts,  without  a  fee.  To  show  their 
gratitude  for  my  having  come  to  the  performance  of 
the  opera  here,  the  management  of  the  Prague  Theatre 
organised  a  concert,  of  which  I  was  to  receive  half  the 
profits.  But  they  chose  such  a  bad  day,  and  arranged 
everything  so  stupidly,  that  the  concert  only  realised 
three  hundred  florins.  After  being  received  like  a  prince 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  573 

last  year,  when  the  enthusiasm  which  greeted  me  almost 
amounted  to  a  frenzy,  I  felt  somewhat  hurt  at  this  meagre 
offering  on  the  part  of  the  Prague  public.  I  therefore 
declined  the  money,  and  made  it  over  to  the  Musicians' 
Pension  Fund.  This  was  soon  made  public,  and  the 
Theatre  Direction  was  overwhelmed  with  reproaches. 
The  whole  Press  took  up  the  matter,  and  thanks  to  this, 
the  performance  of  Oniegin,  which  I  conducted  the  even- 
ing before  last,  gave  rise  to  a  series  of  enthusiastic 
ovations.  Yesterday  I  left  Prague,  crowned  with  laurels ; 
but,  alas !  my  laurel  wreaths  were  all  I  carried  away.  I 
do  not  know  how  to  look  after  my  pecuniary  interests." 

The  success  of  Oniegin  in  Prague  was  extraordinary, 
and  the  opera  has  kept  its  place  in  the  repertory  up  to  the 
present  time. 

Amid  the  chorus  of  praise,  in  which  both  the  public 
and  the  Press  united,  one  voice  was  especially  valued 
by  Tchaikovsky — that  of  his  famous  colleague,  Anton 
Dvorak. 

A.  Dvorak  to  P.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  PRAGUE,  January  2nd  (itfh),  1889. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — When  you  were  lately  with  us  in 
Prague  I  promised  to  write  to  you  on  the  subject  of  your 
opera  Oniegin.  I  am  now  moved  to  do  so,  not  only  in 
answer  to  your  request,  but  also  by  my  own  impulse 
to  express  all  I  felt  on  hearing  your  work.  I  confess  with 
joy  that  your  opera  made  a  profound  impression  on  me — 
the  kind  of  impression  I  expect  to  receive  from  a  genuine 
work  of  art,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  you  that  not 
one  of  your  compositions  has  given  me  such  pleasure  as 
Oniegin. 

"It  is  a  wonderful  creation,  full  of  glowing  emotion  and 
poetry,  and  finely  elaborated  in  all  its  details ;  in  short, 
this  music  is  captivating,  and  penetrates  our  hearts  so 
deeply  that  we  cannot  forget  it.  Whenever  I  go  to  hear 
it  I  feel  myself  transported  into  another  world. 


574  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  I  congratulate  both  you  and  ourselves  upon  this  work. 
God  grant  you  may  give  us  many  another  like  it. 
"  I  embrace  you,  and  remain  your  sincerely  devoted 

"ANTON  DVORAK." 

On  his  way  home  from  Prague  to  Vienna,  Tchaikovsky 
heard  of  the  death  of  his  niece,  Vera  Rimsky-Korsakov, 
ne'e  Davidov.  Although  he  had  long  since  given  up  all 
hope  of  her  recovery,  this  news  affected  him  deeply. 

From  Prague  he  returned  to  Frolovskoe  for  a  short 
time.  On  December  loth  (22nd)  he  conducted  his  new 
works  at  a  Symphony  Concert  in  Moscow.  These 
included  the  new  Symphony  (No.  5,  E  minor)  and  the 
second  Pianoforte  Concerto,  with  Sapellnikov  as  soloist ; 
both  works  achieved  great  success. 

December  I7th  (29th)  found  him  again  in  Petersburg, 
where,  at  the  fourth  of  Belaiev's  "  Russian  Symphony 
Concerts,"  he  conducted  his  Tempest  overture,  and  on 
the  following  day  was  present  at  a  performance  of 
the  Oprichnik  given  by  the  pupils  of  the  Petersburg 
Conservatoire.  Tchaikovsky  was  interested  to  renew  his 
impressions  of  this  work,  and  to  prove  whether  his 
prejudice  against  it  was  well  founded.  In  spite  of  a  very 
good  performance,  his  opinion  of  the  opera  remained  un- 
altered. 

The  next  work  which  Tchaikovsky  took  in  hand  after 
his  return  from  Prague  was  the  music  of  the  ballet,  The 
Sleeping  Beauty,  the  programme  of  which  had  been  pre- 
pared by  Vsievolojsky,  Director  of  the  Imperial  Opera. 
Tchaikovsky  was  charmed  with  the  subject  and  the  pro- 
posed mounting  of  the  work,  and  retired  to  Frolovskoe 
late  in  December,  in  order  to  devote  himself  to  the  task. 

In  view  of  the  great  popularity  to  which  his  Fifth 
Symphony  has  since  attained,  it  is  interesting  to  read  the 
composer's  own  judgment  of  the  work,  recorded  within 
a  few  weeks  of  its  first  performance.  Writing  to  Nadejda 
von  Meek,  in  December,  1888,  he  says  : — 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  575 

"...  After  two  performances  of  my  new  Symphony 
in  Petersburg,  and  one  in  Prague,  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  is  a  failure.  There  is  something  re- 
pellent, something  superfluous,  patchy,  and  insincere, 
which  the  public  instinctively  recognises.  It  was  obvious 
to  me  that  the  ovations  I  received  were  prompted  more 
by  my  earlier  work,  and  that  the  Symphony  itself  did  not 
really  please  the  audience.  The  consciousness  of  this 
brings  me  a  sharp  twinge  of  self-dissatisfaction.  Am 
I  really  played  out,  as  they  say  ?  Can  I  merely  repeat 
and  ring  the  changes  on  my  earlier  idiom  ?  Last  night  I 
looked  through  our  Symphony  (No.  4).  What  a  differ- 
ence !  How  immeasurably  superior  it  is !  It  is  very, 
very  sad  ! " 

Such  attacks  of  pessimism  as  to  his  creative  powers 
were  often,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  forerunner  of  a 
new  tide  of  inspiration.  This  was  now  the  case.  Since 
Eugene  Oniegin  Tchaikovsky  had  never  worked  at  any- 
thing with  the  ease  and  enthusiasm  which  inspired  him 
in  the  first  four  tableaux  of  this  ballet,  The  Sleeping 
Beauty,  the  sketch  of  which  was  completely  finished  by 
January  i8th  (soth). 

The  monotony  of  these  six  weeks'  work  was  relieved 
by  news  of  the  success  of  the  Fifth  Symphony  in  Mos- 
cow, and  also  by  the  kindness  of  his  friend,  Peter  Jurgen- 
son,  who  surprised  him  at  Christmas  with  a  beautiful  and 
valuable  gift — the  complete  edition  of  Mozart's  works. 
These  he  commissioned  Alexis  to  present  to  his  master, 
together  with  a  tiny  Christmas-tree. 

On  January  24th  (February  5th),  1889,  Tchaikovsky 
started  on  his  second  concert  tour  abroad.  He  experi- 
enced "the  usual  feelings  of  home-sickness,"  and  began 
to  anticipate  the  joy  of  his  return.  He  remained  three 
days  in  Berlin,  and  arrived  in  Cologne  on  January  29th 
(February  loth),  where  he  was  to  make  his  first  appear- 
ance as  composer  and  conductor,  with  his  Third  Suite 
(in  G),  at  a  so-called  "  Giirzenich  "  concert. 


5/6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 
11  COLOGNE,  January  30^  (February  utti),  1889. 

"...  To-day  was  my  first  rehearsal.  It  went  very 
well,  and  the  orchestra  is  excellent,  so  that  the  three 
hours  passed  very  pleasantly,  excepting  for  the  agitation 
at  the  start.  Hardly  had  I  got  back  to  my  hotel  before 
I  was  seized  with  home- sickness  and  a  wild  longing  for 
April  8th.  .  .  ." 

Tchaikovsky  made  his  debut  at  Cologne  on  January  3ist 
(February  1 2th).  He  thus  describes  his  impressions  to 
Glazounov : — 

"  I  arrived  shortly  before  the  first  of  the  three  re- 
hearsals. One  hardly  expects  to  find  a  first-class 
orchestra  in  a  town  of  secondary  importance,  and  I 
was  convinced  it  would  only  be  a  very  poor  one.  The 
local  conductor,  Wiillner,  has,  however,  worked  with  such 
care  and  energy  that  he  has  succeeded  in  organising  a 
magnificent  orchestra,  which  filled  me  with  astonishment 
and  admiration  from  the  very  opening  of  my  Third  Suite. 
Twenty  first  violins  !  And  such  violins  !  The  wind,  too, 
is  admirable.  They  read  the  Scherzo,  which  is  particularly 
difficult,  as  if  they  were  playing  it  for  the  tenth  time. 
With  such  an  orchestra  and  three  rehearsals,  it  was  easy 
to  achieve  an  admirable  performance.  The  concert-hall 
is  also  excellent ;  the  audience  equally  so,  and  not  so 
stupidly  conservative  as  in  many  German  towns.  The 
success  was  great,  and  when  I  was  recalled  the  musicians 
greeted  me  with  a  fanfare.  - 

"Early  on  February  ist  (i3th),"  the  letter  continues, 
"  I  started  for  Frankfort.  Here  the  orchestra  is  equally 
large  and  excellent.  The  violins  did  not  seem  to  me 
quite  as  good  as  those  in  Cologne,  although  they  consist 
mostly  of  leaders  from  the  neighbouring  towns — so  I  was 
told — who  come  here  to  play  at  the  great  concerts. 
There  are  twelve  'cellos.  One  of  them,  Kossmann,  the 
celebrated  virtuoso,  was  once  professor  at  Moscow.  My 
Overture  "1812"  was  in  the  programme.  At  the  first 
rehearsal,  however,  the  managers  of  the  concert  took 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  577 

fright  at  the  noisy  Finale,  and  timidly  requested  me  to 
choose  another  piece.  Since,  however,  I  had  no  other 
piece  at  hand,  they  decided  to  confine  themselves  to 
the  Suite.  The  success  here  was  as  great  as  it  was 
unexpected,  for  the  Frankfort  public  is  very  classical, 
and  I  am  regarded  in  Germany  as  a  notorious  revolu- 
tionary." 

Of  those  in  Frankfort  whose  society  Tchaikovsky  most 
enjoyed,  he  mentions  in  his  diary  the  family  of  the  cele- 
brated music  publisher,  pianist,  and  composer,  Otto  Neitzel, 
and  Ivan  Knorr,  Professor  at  the  Frankfort  Conservatoire, 
besides  the  'cellist  Kossmann. 

Tchaikovsky  reached  Dresden  on  February  4th  (i6th). 
Here  disappointment  awaited  him.  The  orchestra  proved 
to  be  only  "third-rate,"  to  use  his  own  words,  and  the 
work  he  had  to  rehearse  made  even  greater  technical 
demands  than  the  Third  Suite ;  it  was  his  favourite  com- 
position— the  Fourth  Symphony.  The  Dresdner  Zeitung 
spoke  of  "a  very  poor  rendering  of  several  passages,  the 
result  of  insufficient  rehearsal."  The  concert  took  place 
on  February  8th  (2oth).  The  first  Pianoforte  Concerto 
(Emil  Sauer)  was  included  in  the  programme.  According 
to  Tchaikovsky's  account,  "  the  first  movement  pleased  the 
audience  a  little,  the  Andante  pleased  better,  the  Scherzo 
still  more,  while  the  Finale  had  a  real  success.  The 
musicians  honoured  me  with  a  fanfare.  Sauer  played 
incomparably." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"DRESDEN,  February  $th  (17^),  1889. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  had  forgotten  to  answer  you  about 
Paris.  Please  remember  that  it  is  impossible  to  give  a 
concert  there  unless  support  is  guaranteed  by  the  French. 
I  hear  that  Slaviansky,  Bessel,  and  others  want  to  have 
a  finger  in  the  pie.  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  associate 
myself  with  them.  You  can  simply  say  that,  without  a 

2    P 


578  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

guarantee,  we  are  not  in  a  position  to  undertake  anything.1 
Heavens,  how  tired  I  am,  and  how  bored  by  all  this ! 

"...  I  expect  soon  to  hear  decisively  from  Klindworth 
and  Dvorak.  A  letter  to  hand  from  Massenet.  He  accepts 
with  enthusiasm,  but  begs  to  keep  the  date  open  for  the 
present,  as  it  depends  on  the  fate  of  his  new  opera." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"BERLIN,  February  nth  (23^,  1889. 

"  After  an  exhausting  tour  I  arrived  here  yesterday.  In 
one  week  I  had  three  concerts  and  nine  rehearsals.  I  can- 
not conceive  whence  I  draw  strength  for  all  this.  Either 
these  fresh  exertions  will  prove  injurious,  or  this  feverish 
activity  will  be  an  antidote  to  my  troubles,  which  are 
chiefly  the  result  of  the  constant  sitting  my  work 
entails.  There  is  no  medium  ;  I  must  return  to  Russia 
*  either  with  my  shield  or  upon  it!  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that,  in  spite  of  hard  moments  and  the  continual  self-con- 
flict, all  this  is  good  for  me." 

To  A.  Glazounov. 
"BERLIN,  February  \$th  (27^),  1889. 

"...  If  my  whole  tour  consisted  only  of  concerts  and 
rehearsals,  it  would  be  very  pleasant.  Unhappily,  however, 
I  am  overwhelmed  with  invitations  to  dinners  and  suppers. 
...  I  much  regret  that  the  Russian  papers  have  said 
nothing  as  to  my  victorious  campaign.  What  can  I  do? 
I  have  no  friends  on  the  Russian  Press.  Even  if  I  had, 
I  should  never  manage  to  advertise  myself.  My  Press 
notices  abroad  are  curious  :  some  find  fault,  others  flatter ; 
but  all  testify  to  the  fact  that  Germans  know  very  little 
about  Russian  music.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course. 
In  Cologne  and  in  other  towns  I  came  across  people  who 
took  great  interest  in  Russian  music  and  were  well  ac- 
quainted with  it.  In  most  instances  Borodin's  E  flat 
Symphony  is  well  known.  Borodin  seems  to  be  a  special 
favourite  in  Germany  (although  they  only  care  for  this 
symphony).  Many  people  ask  for  information  about  you. 

1  Thus  ended  the  plan  for  sending  Tchaikovsky  as  musical  representative 
of  Russia  to  the  Paris  Exhibition  of  1889. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  579 

They  know  you  are  still  very  young,  but  are  amazed  when 
I  tell  them  you  were  only  fifteen  when  you  wrote  your 
Symphony  in  E  flat,  which  has  become  very  well  known 
since  its  performance  at  the  festival.  Klindworth  intends 
to  produce  a  Russian  work  at  his  concert  in  Berlin.  I 
recommended  him  Rimsky-Korsakov's  Caprice  Espagnol 
and  your  Stenka  Razin? 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"LEIPZIG,  February  \^th  (March  ist\  1889. 

"  Klindworth  says  that  I  am  an  '  excellent  conductor.' 
First-rate,  isn't  it  ? 

"Klindworth  is  prepared  to  appear  next  season  at  our 
concerts  for  anything  we  like  to  offer.  He  will  give  a 
Wagner  programme.  Dvorak  promises  to  conduct  a  whole 
concert ;  but  he  cannot  travel  alone,  and  brings  his  wife, 
so  he  asks  a  higher  fee.  Never  mind.  In  the  spring  it 
would  be  well  to  get  out  an  advertisement  with  such  names 
as  Massenet,  Dvorak,  Klindworth.  I  shall  make  an  attempt 
to  invite  Brahms.  That  would  be  grand  ! 

"  When  in  Berlin,  Artot  and  dear  Hugo  Bock  were  my 
great  comfort." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"GENEVA,  February  2\st  (March  $th\  1889. 

"  I  am  engaged  to  give  a  concert  of  my  own  composi- 
tions here.  It  takes  place  on  Saturday,  March  Qth.  The 
orchestra  is  very  small,  only  third-rate.  Had  I  known,  I 
never  would  have  come,  but  the  theatrical  Director  (he  is  no 
musician)  probably  believes  that  the  quality  and  number 
of  an  orchestra  are  of  no  importance  to  a  wandering  musi- 
cian. How  I  shall  get  through  with  this  small  provincial 
band,  I  really  do  not  know.  However,  I  must  confess  that 
they  showed  great  zeal  at  yesterday's  rehearsal.  .  .  ." 

After  all,  this  concert  was  a  success.  The  room  was 
crowded,  and  the  Russian  colony  presented  Tchaikovsky 
with  a  gilt  laurel-wreath. 

On  February  2/th  (March  iith)  Tchaikovsky  arrived  in 


58o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Hamburg.  Brahms  was  at  his  hotel,  occupying  the  room 
next  his  own.  Peter  Ilich  felt  greatly  flattered  on  learning 
that  the  famous  German  composer  was  staying  a  day  longer 
on  purpose  to  hear  the  rehearsal  of  his  Fifth  Symphony. 
Tchaikovsky  was  very  well  received  by  the  orchestra. 
Brahms  remained  in  the  room  until  the  end  of  the  rehearsal. 
Afterwards,  at  luncheon,  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the  work 
"very  frankly  and  simply."  It  had  pleased  him  on  the 
whole,  with  the  exception  of  the  Finale.  Not  unnaturally, 
the  composer  of  this  movement  felt  "  deeply  hurt "  for  the 
moment ;  but  happily  the  injury  was  not  incurable,  as  we 
shall  see.  Tchaikovsky  took  this  opportunity  to  invite 
Brahms  to  conduct  one  of  the  Symphony  Concerts  in  Mos- 
cow, but  the  latter  declined.  Nevertheless  Tchaikovsky's 
personal  liking  for  the  composer  of  the  German  Requiem 
was  increased,  although  his  opinion  of  his  compositions 
was  not  changed.  Tchaikovsky  played  no  part  in  the 
conflict  between  Brahms  and  Wagner,  which  divided  all 
musical  Germany  into  two  hostile  camps.  Brahms's  per- 
sonality as  man  and  artist,  his  purity  and  loftiness  of  aim, 
and  his  earnestness  of  purpose  won  his  sympathy.  Wag- 
ner's personality  and  tendencies  were  antipathetic  to  him  ; 
but  while  the  inspired  music  of  the  latter  found  an  echo 
in  his  heart,  the  works  of  Brahms  left  him  cold. 

At  the  second  rehearsal  all  went  "excellently,"  and  at 
the  third  Tchaikovsky  observed  that  the  Symphony  pleased 
the  musicians.  At  the  public  rehearsal  "there  was  real 
enthusiasm,"  and  although  the  demonstration  at  the  con- 
cert on  March  3rd  (i5th)  was  less  noisy,  the  success  of  the 
Symphony  was  no  less  assured. 

The  pleasant  impressions  of  the  evening  were  slightly 
marred  by  the  absence — on  account  of  illness — of  Ave- 
Lallemant,  to  whom  the  Symphony  is  dedicated. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  581 

To  V.  Davidov. 
"HANOVER  March  $th  (17^),  1889. 

"...  The  concert  at  Hamburg  has  taken  place,  and  I 
may  congratulate  myself  on  a  great  success.  The  Fifth 
Symphony  was  magnificently  played,  and  I  like  it  far 
better  now,  after  having  held  a  bad  opinion  of  it  for  some 
time.  Unfortunately  the  Russian  Press  continues  to  ignore 
me.  With  the  exception  of  my  nearest  and  dearest,  no 
one  will  ever  hear  of  my  successes.  In  the  daily  papers 
here  one  reads  long  telegrams  about  the  Wagner  perform- 
ances in  Russia.  Certainly  I  am  not  a  second  Wagner, 
but  it  would  be  desirable  for  Russia  to  learn  how  I  have 
been  received  in  Germany." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"...  Success  is  very  pleasant  at  the  time,  but  when 
there  is  neither  rehearsal  nor  concert,  I  immediately  relapse 
into  my  usual  state  of  depression  and  boredom.  Only  one 
concert  remains,  the  one  in  London,  but  not  for  another 
month.  How  on  earth  shall  I  kill  time  till  then  ?  Possibly 
I  may  go  straight  to  Paris.  Rushing  about  there  ought  to 
drive  away  ennui.  How  one  wastes  time  ! " 

The  three  days'  visit  to  Hanover  only  differed  from 
Tchaikovsky's  sojourn  in  other  towns  in  that  he  missed 
the  only  thing  that  could  help  him  to  conquer  his  chronic 
home-sickness — concerts  and  rehearsals. 

"  Curious  fact,"  he  remarks  in  his  diary,  "  I  seek  solitude, 
and  suffer  when  I  have  found  it."  In  this  state  of  fluctua- 
tion between  bad  and  worse  Tchaikovsky  had  spent  his 
time  since  he  left  Russia ;  but  the  worst  was  reserved  for 
Hanover,  where  he  experienced  "  extreme  loneliness." 

On  March  8th  (2Oth)  he  arrived  in  Paris,  and  remained 
there  until  the  3Oth  (April  nth). 

As  his  present  visit  to  the  French  capital  was  not 
undertaken  in  a  public  capacity,  it  was  neither  so  brilliant, 
nor  so  fatiguing,  as  that  of  the  previous  year.  At  the  same 


582  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

time  he  came  in  contact  with  many  people  and  received  a 
number  of  invitations.  On  March  ipth  (sist)  he  was 
present  at  one  of  Colonne's  concerts,  when  three  numbers 
from  his  Third  Suite  were  played. 

During  this  holiday  in  Paris  Tchaikovsky  had  only  two 
aims  in  view :  to  secure  Massenet  for  one  of  the  Moscow 
Symphony  Concerts  and  to  use  his  influence  in  favour  of 
Sapellnikov,  whose  gifts  as  a  pianist  he  valued  very  highly. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"March  2ist  (April  2nd\  1889. 

"  I  have  seen  Massenet  several  times ;  he  is  very  much 
flattered  and  prepared  to  come.  The  spring  will  suit  him 
best.  I  have  engaged  Paderewski,  who  has  had  a  colossal 
success  in  Paris.  He  is  not  inferior  to  D' Albert,  and  one 
of  the  very  first  pianists  of  the  day. 

"The  Third  Suite  had  a  splendid  success  at  Colonne's 
concert." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  April  >jth  (igth\  1889. 

"  MODI, — Vassia1  played  to  Colonne  yesterday  evening. 
After  the  Chopin  Polonaise  Colonne  was  astonished,  and 
said  he  would  engage  him  next  year  and  do  '  les  choses  en 
grand'  .  .  .  Vassia  has  made  a  furore'' 

To   V.  Davidov. 

"LONDON,  1889. 

"...  The  evening  before  I  left  Paris  I  went  to 
Madame  Viardot's.  I  heard  an  opera  which  she  composed 
twenty  years  ago  to  a  libretto  by  Tourgeniev.2  The  singers 
were  her  two  daughters  and  her  pupils,  among  whom  was 
a  Russian,  who  danced  a  national  dance  to  the  delight  of 
all  the  spectators.  I  have  seen  the  celebrated  Eiffel  Tower 
quite  near.  It  is  very  fine  ...  I  very  much  enjoyed  hear- 
ing the  finest  of  Berlioz's  works,  La  Damnation  de  Faust. 
I  am  very  fond  of  this  masterpiece,  and  wish  you  knew  it. 

1  Vassily  Sapellnikov. 

2  The  opera  is  entitled  Le  Dernier  Sorcier. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  583 

Lalo's  opera,  Le  Roi  d'Ys,  also  pleased  me  very  much. 
It  has  been  decided  that  I  shall  compose  an  opera  to  a 
French  book,  La  Courtisane}  I  have  made  acquaintance 
with  a  number  of  the  younger  French  composers ; 2  they 
are  all  the  most  rabid  Wagnerites.  But  Wagnerism  sits  so 
badly  on  the  French  !  With  them  it  takes  the  form  of  a 
childishness  which  they  pursue  in  order  to  appear  earnest." 

To  the  same. 
"LONDON,  March  $vth  (April  n/A),  1889. 

"...  Before  all  else,  let  me  inform  you  that  I  have 
made  acquaintance  with  London  fog.  Last  year  I  enjoyed 
the  fog  daily,  but  I  never  dreamt  of  anything  like  the  one 
we  had  to-day.  When  I  went  to  rehearsal  this  morning 
it  was  rather  foggy,  as  it  often  is  in  Petersburg.  But  when 
at  midday  I  left  St.  James's  Hall  with  Sapellnikov  and 
went  into  the  street,  it  was  actually  night — as  dark  as  a 
moonless,  autumn  night  at  home.  It  made  a  great  im- 
pression upon  us  both.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  sitting  in 
a  subterranean  dungeon.  Now  at  4  p.m.  it  is  rather 
lighter,  but  still  gloomy.  It  is  extraordinary  that  this  should 
happen  half-way  through  April.  Even  the  Londoners  are 
astonished  and  annoyed. 

"Ah,  Bob,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  get  back  to  Fro- 
lovskoe !  I  think  I  shall  never  leave  it  again. 

"  The  rehearsal  went  off  very  well  to-day  ;  the  orchestra 
here  is  very  fine.  Sapellnikov  has  not  played  yet.  To- 
morrow he  will  certainly  make  a  sensation  among  the 
musicians.  .  .  ." 

At  the  London  Philharmonic  Tchaikovsky  conducted 
his  first  Pianoforte  Concerto  (with  Sapellnikov  as  soloist) 
and  the  Suite  No.  I.  Both  works  had  a  brilliant  success. 
This  was  evident  from  the  opinions  of  the  Press,  although 
the  lion's  share  of  praise  fell  to  the  lot  of  Sapellnikov. 
The  Musical  Times  regretted  that  one  of  Tchaikovsky's 

1  This  work,  the  libretto  of  which  was  by  Galee  and  Detroyat,  was  never 
actually  begun. 

2  In  his  diary  Tchaikovsky  only  mentions  V.  d'Indy  and  Chaminade. 


584  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

symphonies  had  not  been  given  instead  of  the  Suite,  and 
considered  this  work  was  not  sufficiently  characteristic  to 
give  a  just  idea  of  the  composer's  talent. 

Tchaikovsky  left  London  very  early  on  the  morning  of 
March  3ist  (April  I2th),  and  arrived  at  Marseilles  on  the 
following  day,  where  he  embarked  for  Batoum  by  the 
Messageries  Maritimes. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"CONSTANTINOPLE,  April ' %th  (2oth),  1889. 

"...  We  left  Marseilles  a  week  ago.  The  ship  is  a 
good  one,  the  food  excellent.  It  was  sometimes  very 
rough.  Between  Syra  and  Smyrna  there  was  quite  a 
storm,  to  which  I  cannot  look  back  without  horror.  Both 
these  places  pleased  me  very  much.  I  got  to  know  two 
Russians  on  board :  a  lad  of  fourteen,  Volodya  Sklifas- 
sovsky  (son  of  the  celebrated  surgeon),  and  Hermanovich, 
a  student  at  the  Moscow  University,  who  was  travelling 
with  him.  Both  were  charming  beings,  with  whom  I 
made  fast  friends.  They  were  going  to  Odessa— I  to 
Batoum.  We  spent  the  whole  of  the  evening  together 
in  the  town,  but  slept  on  board.  I  shall  miss  them  very 
much.  .  .  ." 

When  Tchaikovsky  parted  from  his  new  friends  he 
returned  to  his  cabin  and  "cried  bitterly,"  as  though  he 
had  some  premonition  that  he  should  never  again  see  this 
lovable  and  highly  gifted  boy  on  earth.  Volodya  Sklifas- 
sovsky  died  in  January,  1890. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"TiFLis,  April  20th  (May  2nd},  1889. 

"...  A  glorious  land,  the  Caucasus!  How  indescribably 
beautiful  is  the  valley  of  the  Rion,  for  instance,  with  its 
rich  vegetation,  through  which  runs  the  railway  from 
Batoum  to  this  place!  Imagine,  my  dear,  a  wide  valley, 
shut  in  on  either  side  by  rocks  and  mountains  of  fantastic 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  585 

form,  in  which  flourish  rhododendrons  and  other  spring 
flowers,  besides  an  abundance  of  trees,  putting  forth  their 
fresh  green  foliage ;  and,  added  to  this,  the  noisy,  winding, 
brimming  waters  of  the  Rion.  ...  In  Tiflis,  too,  it  is 
wonderful  just  now ;  all  the  fruit  trees  are  in  blossom.  The 
weather  is  so  clear  that  all  the  distant  snow-peaks  are 
visible,  and  the  air  is  full  of  the  feeling  of  spring,  fragrant 
and  life-giving.  After  the  London  fog  it  seems  so  beauti- 
ful, I  can  find  no  words  to  express  it.  .  .  ." 

By  May  /th  (iQth)  Tchaikovsky  was  back  in  Moscow. 
The  following  letter  throws  some  light  on  the  musical  life 
of  that  town. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"Moscow,  May  i2th  (24^),  1889. 

"...  All  were  glad  to  see  me  again.  Since  my  return 
I  have  attended  the  committee  meetings  of  the  Musical 
Society  every  day.  There  is  a  great  accumulation  of 
business.  A  coup  d'etat  has  taken  place  in  the  Con- 
servatoire. Taneiev  has  resigned  the  direction,  and  Safonov 
is  prepared  to  take  his  place,  on  condition  that  Karl 
Albrecht  gives  up  the  post  of  inspector.  I  backed  Karl 
persistently  and  energetically,  and  finally  declared  that  I 
would  retire  from  the  Board  of  Direction  if  he  were 
allowed  to  leave  without  any  decoration  for  long  service. .  . ." 

From  Moscow  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Petersburg  for  a 
few  days,  returning  to  Frolovskoe,  where  he  remained  for 
the  next  four  months. 

The  summer  of  1889  passed  in  peaceful  monotony. 
Tchaikovsky  was  engaged  in  composing  and  orchestrating 
his  ballet,  The  Sleeping  Beauty.  .  .  .  The  little  parties  he 
occasionally  gave — when  Jurgenson,  Mme.  A.  Hubert,  and 
Siloti  were  his  usual  guests — were  the  sole  "events"  of 
this  period  of  his  life.  But  no  account  of  this  summer 
—  uneventful  as  it  was  —  would  be  complete  without 
some  mention  of  Legoshin's1  daughter,  a  child  of  three. 

1  The  servant  of  his  friend  Kondratiev. 


$86  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  was  altogether  fascinated  by  her  prettiness, 
her  clear,  bell-like  voice,  her  charming  ways,  and  clever 
little  head.  He  would  spend  hours  romping  with  the 
child,  listening  to  her  chatter,  and  even  acting  as  nurse- 
maid. 

At  this  time  Tchaikovsky's  correspondence  had  not 
decreased,  but  many  of  his  business  letters  are  not  forth- 
coming, and  those  of  a  more  private  nature  which  date 
from  this  summer  are  for  the  most  part  short  and  un- 
interesting. 

To  Edward  Napravnik. 

"KLIN,/«#/  9//fc  (2itf),  1889. 

"...  You  have  not  forgotten  your  promise  to  conduct 
one  of  the  concerts  of  the  Moscow  Musical  Society,  dear 
friend  ?  .  .  . 

"Now  for  the  programme.  It  rests  entirely  with  you 
both  as  regards  the  choice  of  music  and  of  the  soloists. 
.  .  .  We  beg  you  to  lay  aside  your  modesty,  and  to  in- 
clude at  least  two  important  works  of  your  own.  I 
implore  you  most  emphatically  not  to  do  any  of  my  com- 
positions. As  I  am  arranging  this  concert,  it  would  be 
most  unseemly  were  the  conductor  I  engaged  to  perform 
any  work  of  mine.  I  would  not  on  any  account  have  it 
suspected  that  I  was  looking  after  my  own  interests.  But 
people  would  be  sure  to  put  this  interpretation  upon  the 
matter,  if  the  conductor  invited  for  the  occasion  were  to 
include  any  of  my  music  in  the  programme.  I  think 
Dvorak  will  only  bring  forward  his  own  works,  so  I  will 
ask  you  as  a  Russo-Bohemian  to  give  us  something  of 
Smetana's,  Vishergrad,  or  Moldava.  .  .  ." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  FROLOVSKOE,  July  2$th  (August  &h\  1889. 

"...  My  ballet  will  be  published  in  November  or 
December.  Siloti  is  making  the  pianoforte  arrangement. 
I  think,  dear  friend,  that  it  will  be  one  of  my  best  works. 
The  subject  is  so  poetical,  so  grateful  for  musical  setting, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  587 

that  I  have  worked  at  it  with  all  that  enthusiasm  and 
goodwill  upon  which  the  value  of  a  composition  so  much 
depends.  The  instrumentation  gives  me  far  more  trouble 
than  it  used  to  do ;  consequently  the  work  goes  slowly, 
but  perhaps  all  the  better.  Many  of  my  earlier  com- 
positions show  traces  of  hurry  and  lack  of  due  reflection." 


VI 

1889-1890 

At  the  close  of  September,  1889,  Tchaikovsky  went  to 
Moscow,  where  very  complicated  business  in  connection 
with  the  Russian  Musical  Society  awaited  his  attention. 
For  each  symphony  concert  during  the  forthcoming  season 
a  different  conductor  was  to  be  engaged.1  Besides  this, 
he  had  to  superintend  the  rehearsals  for  Eugene  Oniegin. 
This  opera  was  to  be  newly  and  sumptuously  remounted 
on  September  i8th  (soth),  when  the  composer  had  under- 
taken to  conduct  his  own  work. 

From  Moscow  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Petersburg  for  a 
few  days,  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  committee  appointed 
to  arrange  the  Jubilee  Festival  for  Anton  Rubinstein. 
Tchaikovsky  had  undertaken  to  compose  two  works  for 
this  occasion. 

While  he  was  in  Petersburg,  Alexis  prepared  the  new 
quarters  in  Moscow,  which  he  had  taken  for  the  whole 
winter. 

The  lack  of  society  in  the  evening,  and  the  heavy  duties 
which  awaited  him  in  connection  with  the  Musical  Society, 
were  Tchaikovsky's  sole  reasons  for  wintering  in  Moscow 
rather  than  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Klin. 

1  Massenet  and  Brahms  having  declined  their  invitations,  the  following 
conductors  were  engaged  for  1889-90  : — Rimsky  -  Korsakov,  Tchaikovsky, 
Siloti,  Arensky,  Klindworth,  A.  Rubinstein,  Slatin,  Dvorak,  Altani, 
Ippolitov-Ivanov,  Napravnik,  and  Colonne. 


588  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

During  the  summer  the  idea  of  trying  town  life  once 
more  seemed  to  attract  him,  and  he  spoke  with  enthusiasm 
of  his  new  apartment,  and  took  the  greatest  interest  in 
getting  it  ready ;  but,  as  the  day  of  departure  drew  near, 
he  felt  less  and  less  inclined  to  leave  his  country  home. 

Two  circumstances  contributed  to  make  the  first  days 
after  his  arrival  in  Moscow  depressing :  first,  he  greatly 
missed  the  society  of  Laroche,  who  had  gone  to  live  in 
Petersburg ;  and,  secondly,  his  friend,  the  'cellist  Fitzen- 
hagen,  was  on  his  death-bed. 

His  winter  quarters  were  small,  but  comfortable.  The 
work  to  which  he  looked  forward  with  most  apprehension 
was  the  direction  of  the  two  festival  concerts  for  Rubin- 
stein's jubilee.  For  two  and  a  half  years  he  had  been 
conducting  his  own  compositions,  but  had  comparatively 
little  experience  of  other  music.  Therefore  these  long 
and  heavy  programmes,  including  as  they  did  several  of 
Rubinstein's  own  works,  filled  him  with  anxious  fore- 
boding. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  Moscow,  October  \2th  (24^),  1889. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  are  at  home,  and  I  envy  you.  By 
nature  I  incline  very,  very  much  to  the  kind  of  life  you 
lead.  I  long  to  live  completely  away  from  society,  as  you 
do,  but  during  recent  years  circumstances  have  made  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  live  as  I  please.  I  consider  it  my  duty, 
while  I  have  strength  for  it,  to  fight  against  my  destiny 
and  not  to  desert  my  fellow-creatures  so  long  as  they  have 
need  of  me.  .  .  . 

"But,  good  God,  what  I  have  to  get  through  this 
winter !  It  frightens  me  to  think  of  all  that  lies  before 
me,  here  and  in  Petersburg.  Directly  the  season  is  over 
I  shall  go  to  Italy  for  a  rest.  I  have  not  been  there 
since  1882." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  589 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  October  i6th  (28^),  1889. 

"  Just  think  :  I  have  heard  from  Tchekov.1  He  wants 
to  dedicate  his  new  stories  to  me.  I  have  been  to  thank 
him.  I  am  very  proud  and  pleased." 

Tchaikovsky  first  became  acquainted  with  Tchekov's 
works  in  1887.  His  enthusiasm  was  such  that  he  felt 
impelled  to  write  to  the  author,  expressing  his  delight  at 
having  come  across  a  talent  so  fresh  and  original.  His 
first  personal  acquaintance  with  his  literary  favourite  prob- 
ably dated  from  the  autumn  of  the  same  year.  At  any 
rate,  they  had  known  each  other  previous  to  1889. 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich?' 

"Moscow,  October  29^  (November  zoM),  1889. 

"YOUR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS, — I  feel  a  certain  pride  in 
knowing  that  your  admirable  poem  is  partly  the  outcome 
of  my  letter  to  you  last  year.  I  cannot  think  why  you 
should  fancy  that  the  idea  of  your  poem  does  not  please 
me.  On  the  contrary,  I  like  it  very  much.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  have  sufficient  love  and  forbearance  in  my  own 
nature  always  to  love  'the  hand  that  chastises/  Very 
often  I  want  to  parry  the  blows,  and  play  the  rebellious 
child  in  my  turn.  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  but  incline  before 
the  strength  of  mind  and  lofty  views  of  such  rare  natures 
as  Spinoza,  or  Tolstoi,  who  make  no  distinction  between 
good  and  bad  men,  and  take  the  same  attitude  towards 
every  manifestation  of  human  wickedness  that  you  have 
expressed  in  your  poem.  I  have  never  read  Spinoza,  so  I 
speak  of  him  from  hearsay  ;  but  as  regards  Tolstoi,  I  have 
read  and  re-read  him,  and  consider  him  the  greatest  writer 
in  the  world,  past  or  present.  His  writings  awake  in  me — 
apart  from  any  powerful  artistic  impression  —  a  peculiar 

1  A  celebrated  Russian  novelist  and  writer  of  short  stories. 

2  The  Grand   Duke  had  dedicated  his  last  volume  of  verse  to  Tchai- 
kovsky. 


590  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

emotion.  I  do  not  feel  so  deeply  touched  when  he  de- 
scribes anything  really  emotional,  such  as  death,  suffering, 
separation,  etc.,  so  much  as  by  the  most  ordinary,  prosaic 
events.  For  instance,  I  remember  that  when  reading  the 
chapter  in  which  Dolokhov  plays  cards  with  Rastov  and 
wins,  I  burst  into  tears.  Why  should  a  scene  in  which 
two  characters  are  acting  in  an  unworthy  manner  affect  me 
in  this  degree  ?  The  reason  is  simple  enough.  Tolstoi* 
surveys  the  people  he  describes  from  such  a  height  that 
they  seem  to  him  poor,  insignificant  pigmies  who,  in  their 
blindness,  injure  each  other  in  an  aimless,  purposeless  way 
— and  he  pities  them.  Tolstoi  has  no  malice ;  he  loves 
and  pities  all  his  characters  equally,  and  all  their  actions 
are  the  result  of  their  own  limitations  and  naive  egotism, 
their  helplessness  and  insignificance.  Therefore  he  never 
punishes  his  heroes  for  their  ill-doings,  as  Dickens  does 
(who  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine),  because  he  never  depicts 
anyone  as  absolutely  bad,  only  blind  people,  as  it  were. 
His  humanity  is  far  above  the  sentimental  humanity  of 
Dickens ;  it  almost  attains  to  that  view  of  human  wicked- 
ness which  is  expressed  in  the  words  of  Christ :  '  they 
know  not  what  they  do.' 

"  Is  not  your  Highness's  poem  an  echo  of  this  lofty 
feeling  of  humanity  which  so  dominates  me,  and  how  can  I 
therefore  fail  to  admire  the  fundamental  idea  of  your 
verses  ? 

"The  news  that  the  Emperor  has  deigned  to  inquire 
after  me  gives  me  great  pleasure.  How  am  I  to  under- 
stand the  Emperor's  question  about  little  pieces  ?  If  it  is 
an  indirect  incitement  to  compose  something  in  this  style, 
I  will  take  the  first  opportunity  of  doing  so.  I  should 
immensely  like  to  compose  a  great  symphony,  which  should 
be,  as  it  were,  the  crown  of  my  creative  work,  and  dedicate 
it  to  the  Tsar.  I  have  long  since  had  a  vague  plan  of  such 
a  work  in  my  mind,  but  many  favourable  circumstances 
must  combine  before  I  can  realise  my  idea.  I  hope  I 
shall  not  die  before  I  have  carried  out  this  project.  At 
present  I  am  entirely  absorbed  in  the  concerts  here  and 
the  preparations  for  Rubinstein's  jubilee." 

In  the  same  year  in  which  my  brother  began  to  study 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  591 

with  Zaremba,  in  1861  (or  perhaps  the  previous  year — I 
cannot  remember  for  certain),  he  took  Anatol  and  myself 
to  an  amateur  performance  in  aid  of  some  charity,  given 
in  the  house  of  Prince  Bieloselsky.  Anton  Rubinstein, 
already  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  was  among  the  audience. 
Peter  Ilich  pointed  him  out  to  me  for  the  first  time,  and  I 
still  remember  the  excitement,  rapture  and  reverence  with 
which  the  future  pupil  gazed  on  his  future  teacher.  He 
entirely  forgot  the  play,  while  his  eyes  followed  his 
"  divinity,"  with  the  rapt  gaze  of  a  lover  for  the  unattainable 
beauty  of  his  fancy.  During  the  intervals  he  stood  as 
near  to  him  as  possible,  strove  to  catch  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  and  envied  the  fortunate  mortals  who  ventured  to 
shake  hands  with  him. 

This  feeling  (I  might  say  "  infatuation  "  had  it  not  been 
based  upon  a  full  appreciation  of  Rubinstein's  value  as  a 
man  and  artist)  practically  lasted  to  the  end  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's life.  Externally  he  was  always  "  in  love  "  with 
Rubinstein,  although — as  is  always  the  case  in  love  affairs 
— there  were  periods  of  coolness,  jealousy,  and  irritation, 
which  invariably  gave  place  in  turn  to  a  fresh  access  of 
that  sentiment  which  set  me  wondering  in  Prince 
Bieloselsky's  reception-room.  In  Rubinstein's  presence 
Tchaikovsky  became  quite  diffident,  lost  his  head,  and 
seemed  to  regard  him  as  a  superior  being.  When  at  a 
supper,  given  during  the  pianist's  jubilee,  someone,  in  an 
indelicate  and  unseemly  way,  requested  Rubinstein  and 
Tchaikovsky  to  drink  to  each  other  "as  brothers,"  the 
latter  was  not  only  confused  and  indignant,  but,  in  his 
reply  to  the  toast,  protested  warmly,  saying  that  his  tongue 
would  never  consent  to  address  the  great  artist  in  the 
second  person  singular — it  would  be  entirely  against  the 
spirit  of  their  relations.  He  would  be  happy  if  Rubin- 
stein addressed  him  by  the  familiar  "  thou,"  but  for  his 
own  part,  the  more  ceremonious  form  better  expressed 
a  sense  of  reverence  from  the  pupil  to  his  teacher,  from 


592  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  man  to  the  embodiment  of  his  ideal.  These  were  no 
empty  words.  Rubinstein  had  been  the  first  to  give  the 
novice  in  his  art  an  example  of  the  untiring  devotion  and 
disinterested  spirit  which  animates  the  life  of  the  true 
artist.  In  this  sense  Tchaikovsky  was  far  more  the  pupil 
of  Rubinstein  than  in  questions  of  orchestration  and  com- 
position. With  his  innate  gifts  and  thirst  for  knowledge, 
any  other  teacher  could  have  given  him  the  same  instruc- 
tion. It  was  in  his  character  as  an  energetic,  irreproach- 
ably clean-minded  and  inspired  artist,  as  a  man  who  never 
compromised  with  his  conscience,  who  had  all  his  life 
detested  every  kind  of  humbug  and  the  successes  of 
vulgarity,  as  an  indefatigable  worker,  that  Rubinstein  left 
really  deep  traces  upon  Tchaikovsky's  artistic  career.  The 
latter,  writing  to  the  well-known  German  journalist, 
Eugen  Zabel,  said  :  "  Rubinstein's  personality  shines  before 
me  like  a  clear,  guiding  star." 

But  there  were  times  when  clouds  obscured  this  "guiding 
star."  While  recognising  Rubinstein's  great  gifts  as  a 
composer,  and  valuing  some  of  his  works  very  highly — 
such  as  the  "  Ocean  Symphony,"  The  Tower  of  Babel, 
the  Pianoforte  Concerto,  Ivan  the  Terrible^  the  violon- 
cello sonatas,  and  many  of  the  pieces  for  pianoforte — 
Tchaikovsky  grew  angry  and  impatient  over  the  vast 
majority  of  the  virtuoso's  mediocre  and  empty  creations. 
He  frequently  expressed  himself  so  sarcastically  on  this 
subject  that  I  have  cut  out  certain  passages  in  his  letters, 
lest  they  might  give  the  reader  a  false  impression  of  his 
attitude  towards  Rubinstein.  But  he  soon  forgot  and 
forgave  these  momentary  eclipses  of  "his  star,"  and  always 
returned  to  his  old  spirit  of  veneration. 

The  deepest,  keenest,  and  most  painful  aspect  of  their 
relations — and  here  artistic  self-esteem  doubtless  played 
a  part — was  the  knowledge  of  Rubinstein's  antipathy  to 
him  as  a  composer,  which  he  never  conquered  to  the  end 
of  his  life.  The  virtuoso  never  cared  for  Tchaikovsky's 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  593 

music.  Many  of  Rubinstein's  intimate  friends,  and  also 
his  wife,  maintained  the  reverse.  But  in  that  case  it  was 
the  love  of  Wotan  for  the  Walsungs.  Secretly  rejoicing 
in  the  success  of  Tchaikovsky-Siegmund,  and  sympath- 
ising in  his  heart  with  Tchaikovsky-Siegfried,  Wotan- 
Rubinstein  never  did  anything  to  forward  the  perform- 
ance of  his  works,  nor  held  out  a  helping  hand.  .  .  .  From 
the  earliest  exercises  at  the  Conservatoire,  to  the  "  Pathetic 
Symphony,"  he  never  praised — and  seldom  condemned — 
a  single  work  of  Tchaikovsky's.  All  of  them,  without 
exception,  were  silently  ignored — together  with  all  the 
music  which  came  after  Schumann — as  unworthy  of  serious 
attention. 

The  legend  of  Rubinstein's  envy,  which  had  absolutely 
no  foundation  in  fact,  always  annoyed  Tchaikovsky  and 
aroused  his  wrath.  Even  if  it  might  be  to  a  certain  extent 
true  as  regards  the  eighties,  when  my  brother  was  recog- 
nised and  famous,  it  could  not  apply  to  the  attitude  of 
a  teacher  towards  a  pupil  who — although  undoubtedly 
gifted — had  a  doubtful  future  before  him.  To  the  com- 
poser of  the  "  Ocean  Symphony "  Tchaikovsky's  earliest 
essays  in  composition  were  as  antipathetic  as  Eugene 
Oniegin  and  the  Fifth  Symphony.  Envy  can  only  exist 
between  two  equally  matched  rivals,  and  could  not  have 
influenced  a  giant — as  Rubinstein  was  in  the  sixties — in 
his  relations  with  anyone  so  insignificant  as  the  Tchai- 
kovsky of  those  days. 

The  feeling  was  simply  the  same  which  Tchaikovsky 
himself  cherished  for  the  works  of  Chopin  and  Brahms ; 
a  sentiment  of  instinctive  and  unconquerable  antipathy. 
Rubinstein  felt  like  this,  not  only  towards  Tchaikovsky's 
music,  but  to  all  musical  works  which  came  after  Chopin 
and  Schumann. 

In  any  case,  however  much  Tchaikovsky  may  have 
been  wounded  by  Rubinstein's  indifference,  he  remained 
loyal  to  his  enthusiasm  for  his  former  teacher.  When  the 

2    Q 


594  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

Duke  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz  requested  him  to  take  part 
in  organising  the  celebration  of  Rubinstein's  jubilee,  he 
expressed  himself  willing  to  put  himself  at  the  disposal 
of  the  committee.  It  was  decided  that  he  should  conduct 
the  jubilee  concerts  and  compose  a  chorus  a  capella  to 
words  by  Polonsky.  The  chorus  was  to  be  sung  at  the 
festival  given  in  the  hall  of  the  Nobles'  Club,  November 
1 8th  (30th),  1889.  In  addition  he  undertook  to  contribute 
something  to  the  album  which  Rubinstein's  former  pupils 
at  the  Petersburg  Conservatoire  were  going  to  present 
him  on  the  same  occasion. 

The  second  half  of  his  task  was  easily  fulfilled.  In  a 
few  days  both  compositions — the  chorus  and  an  Im- 
promptu for  pianoforte — were  ready.  The  conducting  of 
the  concerts  was  another  matter.  The  labour  it  involved, 
and  the  difficulties  in  connection  with  it,  made  real  de- 
mands upon  Tchaikovsky's  devotion  for  his  old  teacher. 

The  programme  of  the  first  concert  consisted  entirely 
of  symphonic  works,  including  the  Konzertstiick  (op.  113), 
with  Rubinstein  himself  at  the  piano,  and  the  Symphony 
No.  5  (op.  107).  At  the  second  concert,  besides  the 
dances  from  Fer amors  and  the  Roussalka  songs,  the  chief 
item  was  the  Biblical  opera,  The  Tower  of  Babel. 

This  programme  would  have  made  very  heavy  demands 
upon  the  most  experienced  conductor ;  it  was  a  still  heavier 
task  for  one  who — only  a  month  previously — had  con- 
ducted for  the  first  time  any  works  other  than  his  own. 

"  There  were  moments,"  he  wrote  to  Nadejda  von  Meek, 
"when  I  experienced  such  a  complete  loss  of  strength 
that  I  feared  for  my  life.  The  working  up  of  The  Tower 
of  Babel,  with  its  chorus  of  seven  hundred  voices,  gave 
me  the  most  trouble.  On  the  evening  of  November  loth 
(22nd),  just  before  the  oratorio  began,  I  had  an  attack  of 
nerves,  which  they  feared  might  prevent  my  returning 
to  the  conductor's  desk.  But — perhaps  thanks  to  this 
crisis — I  pulled  myself  together  in  time,  and  all  went  well 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  595 

to  the  end.  You  will  learn  all  details  about  the  festival 
from  the  newspapers.  I  will  only  add  that  from  the  ist 
to  the  1 9th  of  November  I  endured  martyrdom,  and  I  am 
still  marvelling  how  I  lived  through  it  all." 

To  the  period  between  the  end  of  October,  1889,  to  the 
middle  of  January,  1890,  belong  but  twelve  letters,  only 
two  of  which  have  any  biographical  interest.  The  rest  are 
merely  short  notes  of  no  importance.  Such  a  decrease 
in  Tchaikovsky's  correspondence  is  a  symptom  of  the 
highly  nervous  and  distracted  phase  which  he  was  now 
passing  through.  For  a  long  time  past  letter-writing  had 
ceased  to  be  a  pleasant  duty ;  still,  it  remained  a  duty, 
which  he  could  only  neglect  under  special  circumstances, 
such  as  overwhelmed  him  at  the  commencement  of  this 
season. 

He  had  scarcely  got  over  the  jubilee  concerts,  when  he 
had  to  return  to  Moscow  to  conduct  Beethoven's  Ninth 
Symphony  at  an  extra  Symphony  Concert,  given  in  aid 
of  the  fund  for  the  widows  and  orphans  of  musicians. 

Only  two  published  notices  of  this  concert  are  in  exist- 
ence at  Klin.  Both  emanate  from  staunch  admirers  of 
Tchaikovsky:  Kashkin  and  Konius,  who,  in  spite  of  all  their 
justice,  probably  show  some  partisanship  in  their  praise. 

On  the  same  occasion  Brandoukov  played  Tchaikovsky's 
Pezzo  Capriccioso  for  violoncello  with  great  success. 

It  was  unfortunate  that  after  all  this  strain  and  anxiety 
the  composer  was  not  able  to  return  to  his  country  retreat, 
where  the  peaceful  solitude  invariably  restored  him  to 
health  and  strength.  In  spite  of  all  precautions,  he  was 
overrun  with  visitors ;  and  his  Moscow  quarters  were  so 
small  that  he  sighed  perpetually  for  his  roomy  home  at 
Frolovskoe.  Added  to  which,  Alexis  Safronov's  wife  was 
dying  of  consumption.  We  know  Tchaikovsky's  attitude 
to  those  who  served  him.  He  never  regarded  them  as 
subordinates,  mere  machines  for  carrying  out  his  wishes,  but 


596  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

rather  as  friends,  in  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he  felt  the 
keenest  sympathy.  The  illness  of  his  servant's  young 
wife  caused  him  great  sorrow  ;  the  more  so  that  he  saw 
no  way  of  saving  her  life.  The  knowledge  that  he  was 
of  no  use,  but  rather  a  hindrance  to  the  care  of  the 
invalid — for  Alexis  was  the  poor  soul's  only  nurse — made 
Tchaikovsky  anxious  to  save  his  man  all  the  personal 
services  with  which  he  could  possibly  dispense.  For  this 
reason  he  cut  short  his  stay  in  Moscow  and  returned  to 
Petersburg  at  the  end  of  November,  where  his  ballet,  The 
Sleeping  Beauty r,  was  already  in  rehearsal. 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"PETERSBURG,  December  I'jth  (29^),  1889. 

rt  MY  DEAR,  KIND,  INCOMPARABLE  FRIEND, — Where  are 
you  now  ?  I  do  not  know.  But  I  have  such  a  yearning  to 
talk  to  you  a  little  that  I  am  beginning  this  letter  with  the 
intention  of  posting  it  to  you  in  Moscow,  as  soon  as  I  can 
find  your  address.  For  three  weeks  I  have  been  doing 
nothing  in  Petersburg.  I  say  '  doing  nothing '  because  my 
real  business  is  to  compose ;  and  all  this  conducting, 
attending  rehearsals  for  my  ballet,  etc.,  I  regard  as  some- 
thing purposeless  and  fortuitious,  which  only  shortens  my 
days,  for  it  needs  all  my  strength  of  will  to  endure  the 
kind  of  life  I  have  to  lead  in  Petersburg.  .  .  .  On 
January  6th  I  must  be  back  in  Moscow  to  conduct  a 
concert  of  the  Musical  Society,  at  which  Anton  Rubinstein 
will  play  his  new  compositions,  and  on  the  I4th  I  have  a 
popular  concert  here ;  after  that  I  shall  be  at  the  end  of  my 
forces.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  refuse  all  engagements 
at  home  and  abroad,  and  perhaps  to  go  to  Italy  for  four 
months  to  rest  and  work  at  my  future  opera,  Pique  Dame. 
I  have  chosen  this  subject  from  Poushkin.  It  happened  in 
this  way :  three  years  ago  my  brother  Modeste  undertook 
to  make  a  libretto  for  a  certain  Klenovsky,  and  gradually 
put  together  a  very  successful  book  upon  this  subject. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  597 

"Moscow,  December  26th  (January  yM),  1889. 

"  I  continue  my  letter.  The  libretto  of  Pique  Dame  was 
written  by  Modeste  for  Klenovsky,  but  for  some  reason  he 
declined  to  set  it  to  music.  Then  Vsievolojsky,  the  Director 
of  the  Opera,  took  it  into  his  head  that  I  should  write  a 
work  on  this  subject  and  have  it  ready  by  next  season. 
He  communicated  his  wish  to  me,  and  as  the  business 
fitted  in  admirably  with  my  determination  to  escape  from 
Russia  for  a  time  and  devote  myself  to  composition,  I  said 
*  yes.'  A  committee  meeting  was  improvised,  at  which  my 
brother  read  his  libretto,  its  merits  and  demerits  were 
discussed,  the  scenery  planned,  and  even  the  parts  dis- 
tributed. ...  I  feel  very  much  inclined  to  work.  If  only 
I  can  settle  myself  comfortably  in  some  corner  abroad,  I 
should  be  equal  to  my  task,  and  could  let  the  Direction  have 
the  pianoforte  score  in  May.  In  the  course  of  the  summer 
the  orchestration  would  be  finished." 

On  January  ist  (i3th)  Tchaikovsky  was  back  in  St. 
Petersburg,  and  on  the  following  day  attended  a  gala  re- 
hearsal of  The  Sleeping  Beauty,  at  which  the  Imperial 
Court  was  present. 

Practically  it  was  the  first  night,  for  while  the  parterre 
was  reserved  for  the  Imperial  party,  the  boxes  on  the  first 
tier  were  crowded  with  aristocratic  spectators.  The  Im- 
perial family  were  pleased,  but  not  enthusiastic  in  their 
appreciation  of  the  music,  although  afterwards  they  grew 
very  fond  of  this  Ballet.  "Very  nice"  was  the  only 
expression  of  opinion  Tchaikovsky  received  from  the 
Emperor's  lips.  This  scanty  praise — judging  from  the 
entry  in  his  diary — greatly  mortified  the  composer. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  that  at  the  first  public  per- 
formance, on  the  following  day,  the  public  seems  to  have 
shared  the  Emperor's  opinion,  for  the  applause,  which  was 
lacking  in  warmth,  seemed  to  pronounce  the  same  luke- 
warm verdict,  "Very  nice."  The  composer  was  still  further 
depressed  and  embittered.  "  Embittered,"  because,  during 


598  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  rehearsals,  Tchaikovsky  had  learnt  to  appreciate  the 
splendour  and  novelty  of  the  scenery  and  costumes,  and 
the  inexhaustible  taste  and  invention  of  M.  Petipa,  and 
expected  that  all  this  talent  and  taste,  combined  with 
his  music — which  came  only  second  to  Oniegin  in  his 
affections — would  arouse  a  storm  of  enthusiasm  in  the 
public. 

This  was  not  the  case,  because  the  novelty  of  the  pro- 
gramme and  the  dazzling  wealth  of  detail  blinded  the 
public  to  the  musical  beauties  of  the  work.  They  could 
not  appreciate  the  Ballet  at  the  first  performance,  as  they 
afterwards  learnt  to  do.  Its  success  was  immense,  and  was 
proved  in  the  same  way  as  that  of  Eugene  Oniegin — not  by 
frantic  applause  during  the  performance,  but  by  a  long 
series  of  crowded  houses. 

On  January  4th  (i6th)  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Moscow, 
where  he  conducted  on  the  6th.  Convinced  that  no  repose 
was  possible  in  that  town,  he  decided  to  start  abroad  im- 
mediately, and  to  take  his  brother  Modeste's  servant, 
Nazar,  in  place  of  Alexis,  who  remained  by  his  wife's 
death-bed.  Tchaikovsky  left  Petersburg  on  January  I4th 
(26th)  without  any  plans  as  to  his  destination. 


VII 


Not  until  he  reached  Berlin  did  Tchaikovsky  decide  in 
favour  of  Florence,  where  he  arrived  early  on  January  iSth 
(3Oth),  1890,  Italy  did  not  interest  him  at  the  moment. 
He  was  actuated  only  by  one  motive — to  get  away.  Soon 
he  was  at  work  upon  Pique  Dame.  His  surroundings 
were  favourable,  and  he  made  rapid  progress.  His  condi- 
tion of  mind  was  not  cheerful,  however,  as  may  he  gathered 
from  the  following  letter  to  Glazounov,  dated  January  3Oth 
(February  nth),  1890. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  599 

"DEAR  ALEXANDER  CONSTANTINOVICH, — Your  kind 
letter  touched  me  very  much.  Just  now  I  am  sadly  in 
need  of  friendly  sympathy  and  intercourse  with  people 
who  are  intimate  and  dear.  I  am  passing  through  a  very 
enigmatical  stage  on  my  road  to  the  grave.  Something 
strange,  which  I  cannot  understand,  is  going  on  within  me. 
A  kind  of  life-weariness  has  come  over  me.  Some- 
times I  feel  an  insane  anguish,  but  not  that  kind  of 
anguish  which  is  the  herald  of  a  new  tide  of  love  for  life  ; 
rather  something  hopeless,  final,  and — like  every  finale — 
a  little  commonplace.  Simultaneously  a  passionate  desire 
to  create.  The  devil  knows  what  it  is !  In  fact,  some- 
times I  feel  my  song  is  sung,  and  then  again  an  uncon- 
querable impulse,  either  to  give  it  fresh  life,  or  to  start 
a  new  song.  ...  As  I  have  said,  I  do  not  know  what  has 
come  to  me.  For  instance,  there  was  a  time  when  I  loved 
Italy  and  Florence.  Now  I  have  to  make  a  great  effort  to 
emerge  from  my  shell.  When  I  do  go  out,  I  feel  no 
pleasure  whatever,  either  in  the  blue  sky  of  Italy,  in  the 
sun  that  shines  from  it,  in  the  architectural  beauties  I  see 
around  me,  or  in  the  teeming  life  of  the  streets.  Formerly 
all  this  enchanted  me,  and  quickened  my  imagination. 
Perhaps  my  trouble  actually  lies  in  those  fifty  years  to 
which  I  shall  attain  two  months  hence,  and  my  imagina- 
tion will  no  longer  take  colour  from  its  surroundings  ? 

"  But  enough  of  this !  I  am  working  hard.  Whether 
what  I  am  doing  is  really  good,  is  a  question  to  which 
only  posterity  can  give  the  answer. 

"  I  feel  the  greatest  sympathy  for  your  misgivings  as  to 
the  failure  of  your  '  Oriental  Fantasia.'  There  is  nothing 
more  painful  than  such  doubts.  But  all  evil  has  its  good 
side.  You  say  your  friends  did  not  approve  of  the  work, 
but  did  not  express  their  disapproval  at  the  right  time — 
at  a  moment  when  you  could  agree  with  them.  It  was 
wrong  of  them  to  oppose  the  enthusiasm  of  the  author 
for  his  work,  before  it  had  had  time  to  cool.  But  it  is 
better  that  they  had  the  courage  to  speak  frankly,  instead 
of  giving  you  that  meaningless,  perfunctory  praise  some 
friends  consider  it  their  duty  to  bestow,  to  which  we  listen, 
and  which  we  accept,  because  we  are  only  too  glad  to 
believe.  You  are  strong  enough  to  guard  your  feelings 


6oo  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

as  composer  in  those  moments  when  people  tell  you  the 
truth.  ...  I,  too,  dear  Alexander  Constantinovich,  have 
sometimes  wished  to  be  quite  frank  with  you  about  your 
work.  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  your  gifts.  I  value  the 
earnestness  of  your  aims,  and  your  artistic  sense  of 
honour.  And  yet  I  often  think  about  you.  I  feel  that,  as 
an  older  friend  who  loves  you,  I  ought  to  warn  you  against 
certain  exclusive  tendencies,  and  a  kind  of  one-sidedness. 
Yet  how  to  tell  you  this  I  do  not  quite  know.  In  many 
respects  you  are  a  riddle  to  me.  You  have  genius,  but 
something  prevents  you  from  broadening  out  and  penetra- 
ting the  depths.  ...  In  short,  during  the  winter  you  may 
expect  a  letter  from  me,  in  which  I  will  talk  to  you  after 
due  reflection.  If  I  fail  to  say  anything  apposite,  it  will 
be  a  proof  of  my  incapacity,  not  the  result  of  any  lack 
of  affection  and  sympathy  for  you." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"FLORENCE,  February  2nd  (itfh),  1890. 

"  You  have  arranged  the  death  scene  of  The  Queen  of 
Spades  very  well,  and  suitably  for  musical  setting.  I  am 
very  pleased  with  you  as  a  librettist,  only  keep  conciseness 
in  view  and  avoid  prolixity.  As  to  the  scene  on  the 
bridge,  I  have  thought  it  over.  You  and  Laroche  are 
quite  opposed,  and  in  spite  of  my  wish  to  have  as  few 
scenes  as  possible,  and  to  be  concise,  I  fear  the  whole  of 
Act  III.  will  be  without  any  women  actors,  and  that  would 
be  dull.  Lisa's  part  cannot  be  finished  in  the  fourth  scene ; 
the  audience  must  know  what  becomes  of  her." 


To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"FLORENCE,  February  6th  (i8//fc),  1890. 

" .  .  .  .  To-day,  for  the  first  time,  I  enjoyed  my  visit  to 
Italy.  So  far  I  have  felt  indifferent — even  hostile  to  it. 
But  to-day  the  weather  was  so  divine,  and  it  was  such  a 
joy  to  gather  a  few  violets  in  the  Cascine !  At  Kamenka 
they  only  appear  in  April. 

"  Now  to  return  to  Pique  Dame.  How  can  we  manage 
to  make  the  part  lighter  for  poor  Figner  ?  Seven  scenes, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  601 

in  which  he  has  to  sing  without  intermission !      Do  think 
it  over. 

"  I  am  anxiously  awaiting  the  ball  scene.  For  Heaven's 
sake  lose  no  time,  Modi,  or  I  shall  find  myself  without 
any  text  to  set." 

To  A.  P.  Merkling. 

"FLORENCE,  February  ^th  (19^),   1890. 
"  To-day  I  wrote  the  scene  in  which  Hermann  goes  to 
the  old  Queen  of  Spades.     It  was  so  gruesome  that  I  am 
still  under  the  horrible  spell  of  it." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"FLORENCE,  February  \2th  (24^),  1890. 

"  If,  God  willing,  I  finish  the  opera,  it  will  be  something 
chic.  The  fourth  scene  will  have  an  overwhelming  effect." 

Meanwhile,  on  February  4th  (i6th),  The  Enchantress 
had  been  produced  in  Moscow  for  the  first  time.  Kashkin 
wrote  of  it  as  follows  : — 

"  That  the  opera  had  been  very  superficially  studied  was 
evident  from  the  entire  performance,  which  was  most  un- 
satisfactory. I  will  not  blame  the  artists,  who  did  what 
they  could,  while  some  of  them  were  very  good  ;  but  the 
ensemble  was  bad,  in  consequence  of  insufficient  rehearsal. 
All  went  in  a  more  or  less  disconnected  way.  The 
orchestra  accompanied  very  roughly,  without  light  or 
shade,  the  brass  playing  ff  throughout  and  drowning 
everything  else  with  their  monotonous  noise.  Madame 
Korovina,  who  took  the  chief  part,  was  ill,  and  should  not 
have  been  allowed  to  sing.  We  see  from  the  repertory 
published  in  the  newspapers  that  The  Enchantress  will  not 
be  put  on  again  before  Lent.  Thank  goodness !  The 
repetition  of  such  a  performance  is  most  undesirable.  An 
opera  should  be  studied  before  it  is  put  on  the  stage." 

The  Enchantress,  however,  was  not  repeated,  even  after 
Lent.  With  this  solitary  performance  its  career  came  to 
an  end  as  regards  the  Imperial  Opera  House. 


602  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Diary. 
"February  2ist  (March  5^),   1890. 

"This  morning  I  had  a  letter  from  Alexis.  He  says 
Theklousha  (his  wife)  prays  God  to  take  her  soon.  Poor, 
poor  sufferer ! 

"  Began  the  fifth  scene,  and  in  imagination  I  finished  it 
yesterday,  but  in  reality  only  got  through  it  early  to-day." 

"February  ztfh  (March  8M),   1890. 

"  Heard  from  Alexis.  Theklousha  is  dead.  I  wept. 
Altogether  a  sad  morning.  ...  In  the  evening  an  act 
from  Puritani.  With  all  his  glaring  defects,  Bellini  is 
fascinating ! " 

"March  yd  (15^),  1890. 

"Finished  everything  this  morning.  God  be  praised, 
Who  has  let  me  bring  my  work  to  an  end." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"FLORENCE,  March  ^rd  (i$th\  1890. 

"  Yesterday  I  set  your  own  closing  scene  to  music.  When 
I  came  to  Hermann's  death  and  the  final  chorus,  I  was 
suddenly  overcome  by  such  intense  pity  for  Hermann  that 
I  burst  out  crying.  Afterwards  I  discovered  the  reason 
for  my  tears  (for  I  was  never  before  so  deeply  moved  by 
the  sorrows  of  my  hero,  and  I  tried  to  explain  to  myself 
why  it  should  be  so  now).  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Hermann  was  to  me  not  merely  a  pretext  for  writing  this 
or  that  kind  of  music,  but  had  been  all  the  while  an  actual, 
living,  sympathetic  human  being.  Because  I  am  very  fond 
of  Figner,  and  I  always  see  Hermann  in  the  form  of 
Figner,  therefore  I  have  felt  an  intimate  realisation  of  his 
fate.1  Now  I  hope  my  warm  and  lively  feeling  for  the 
hero  of  my  opera  may  be  happily  reflected  in  my  music. 
In  any  case,  I  think  Pique Dameby  no  means  a  bad  opera. 
We  shall  see.  .  .  . 

"Laroche  writes  that  he  and  Napravnik  do  not  approve 
of  my  having  composed  an  opera  in  so  short  a  time.  They 

1  For  the  story  of  Pique  Dame  see  Appendix  B,  p.  759. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  603 

will  not  realise  that  to  rush  through  my  work  is  an  essen- 
tial feature  of  my  character.  I  only  work  quickly.  I  took 
my  time  over  The  Enchantress  and  the  Fifth  Symphony, 
and  they  were  failures,  whereas  I  finished  the  Ballet  in 
three  weeks,  and  Oniegin  was  written  in  an  incredibly 
short  time.  The  chief  thing  is  to  love  the  work.  I  have 
certainly  written  with  love.  How  I  cried  yesterday  when 
they  sang  over  my  poor  Hermann  ! " 

Tchaikovsky  had  decided  to  leave  Florence  early  in 
March  for  Rome.  But  failing  to  find  rooms  in  any  of  the 
hotels,  he  stayed  on  in  Florence  for  two  or  three  weeks 
longer. 

To  Anna  Merkling. 

"FLORENCE,  March  $th  (i*jth),  1890. 

"...  Heavens,  what  charming  creatures  children  are! 
But  little  dogs  are  even  more  beautiful.  They  are  simply 
the  pearls  of  creation !  .  .  .  There  is  a  breed  here,  almost 
unknown  with  us,  called  '  Lupetto.'  You  can  often  buy 
puppies  of  this  kind  on  the  Lungarno.  If  my  Alexis  did 
not  hate  dogs  (they  have  a  wretched  life  when  the  servants 
dislike  them),  I  could  not  resist  buying  one  of  them." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"FLORENCE,  March  \yth  (31^),  1890. 

"  Just  two  months  ago  I  began  the  composition  of  the 
opera.  To-day  I  finished  the  pianoforte  score  of  the 
second  act.  This  is  to  me  the  most  dreadful  and  nerve- 
exasperating  occupation.  I  composed  the  opera  with 
pleasure  and  self-oblivion ;  I  shall  orchestrate  with  delight ; 
but  to  make  an  arrangement !  All  the  time  one  has 
to  keep  undoing  what  is  intended  for  orchestra.  I  believe 
my  ill-health  is  simply  the  result  of  this  confounded  work. 
Nazar  says  I  have  very  much  altered  the  last  week  or  two, 
and  have  been  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind.  Whether  it  is 
that  the  worst  and  most  wearisome  part  of  my  work 
is  nearing  an  end,  or  that  the  weather  is  finer,  I  cannot 
say,  but  since  yesterday  I  feel  much  better.  .  .  .  Modi, 
either  I  am  greatly  mistaken  or  Pique  Dame  is  a  master- 


604  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

piece.  At  one  place  in  the  fourth  scene,  which  I  was 
arranging  to-day,  I  felt  such  horror,  such  gruesome  thrills, 
that  surely  the  listeners  cannot  escape  the  same  impressions. 
"  Understand,  that  I  shall  certainly  spend  my  fiftieth 
birthday  in  Petersburg.  Besides  yourself,  Anatol,  and 
Jurgenson,  I  shall  write  to  no  one." 

On  March  27th  (April  8th),  Tchaikovsky  completed  the 
pianoforte  arrangement  of  Pique  Dame,  and  resolved 
to  move  on  to  Rome.  "  I  am  going  there  chiefly  for 
Nazar's  sake,"  he  writes,  "  I  want  him  to  see  the  place." 
For  the  first  time,  after  nine  weeks  of  continuous  work,  the 
composer  enjoyed  a  little  leisure,  and  spent  one  of  his  last 
days  in  the  Uffizi  and  Pitti  galleries.  "  In  spite  of  my 
efforts,"  he  says,  "  I  cannot  acquire  any  appreciation  of 
painting,  especially  of  the  older  masters — they  leave  me 
cold." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  ROME,  March  27^  (April  8//fc). 

"...  The  cheerful  feelings  that  came  over  me  to-day  as 
soon  as  I  stepped  into  the  streets,  breathed  the  well- 
known  air  of  Rome,  and  saw  the  old  familiar  places,  made 
me  realise  how  foolish  I  had  been  not  to  come  here  first  of 
all.  However,  I  must  not  blame  poor  Florence,  which  for 
no  particular  reason  grew  so  detestable  to  me,  since  I  was 
able  to  compose  my  opera  there  unmolested.  Rome  is 
much  changed.  Parts  of  it  are  unrecognisable.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  these  alterations,  it  is  a  joy  to  be  back  in  the  dear 
place.  I  think  of  the  years  that  have  dropped  into  eternity, 
of  the  two  Kondratievs,  gone  to  their  rest.  It  is  very  sad  and 
yet  it  has  a  melancholy  pleasure.  .  .  .  Nazar  is  enchanted 
with  Rome.  I  seem  to  see  you  and  Kolya  at  every  turn. 
I  shall  stay  here  three  weeks." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"  ROME,  March  2%th  (April  gth\  1890. 

"  All  I  hear  about  Safonov1  does  not  surprise  me  in  the 
least.  But  in  any  case  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  may 

1  He  had  succeeded  Taneiev  as  Director  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  60$ 

be  useful  at  this  critical  juncture.  A  man  of  such  child- 
like guilelessness  and  rectitude  as  Taneiev  can  hardly 
uphold  the  prestige  of  the  Conservatoire.  A  Safonov 
is  useful  when  there  is  no  longer  a  Rubinstein.  Such  a 
man  as  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  who  had  furious  energy,  and 
at  the  same  time  could  quite  forget  himself  in  the  work  he 
loved,  is  rare  indeed." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"ROME,  April  ^th  (19^),  1890. 

"DEAR  FRIEND,— I  am  forced  to  flee  from  Rome.  I 
could  not  preserve  my  incognito.  A  few  Russians  have 
already  called  to  ask  me  to  dinners,  soirees,  etc.  I  have 
refused  every  invitation,  but  my  liberty  is  done  for,  and 
all  pleasure  in  my  visit  at  an  end.  Sgambati,  the  leading 
musician  here,  having  heard  from  the  Russians  that  I  was 
in  Rome,  put  my  First  Quartet  into  the  programme  of  his 
chamber  concert,  and  came  to  request  my  attendance.  I 
could  not  possibly  be  ungracious,  so  I  had  to  sacrifice  one 
of  my  working  hours  in  order  to  sit  in  a  stuffy  room 
and  listen  to  a  second-rate  performance  of  my  work  ; 
while  all  the  time  I  was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  the 
audience,  whom  Sgambati  had  informed  of  my  presence, 
and  who  seemed  very  curious  to  see  what  a  Russian 
musician  could  be  like.  It  was  most  unpleasant.  As 
these  occurrences  are  certain  to  be  repeated,  I  have 
decided  to  return  to  Russia  in  two  or  three  days  by  way 
of  Venice  and  Vienna. 

"  You  cannot  imagine  how  I  long  for  Russia,  and  with 
what  joy  I  look  forward  to  my  rural  solitude.  Just  now 
something  wrong  is  going  on  in  Russia.  But  nothing 
hinders  my  passionate  love  of  my  own  land.  I  cannot 
imagine  how  formerly  I  was  contented  to  stay  so  long 
away  from  it,  and  even  to  take  some  pleasure  in  being 
abroad." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikvosky. 

"ROME,  April  ^th  (i<)th\  1890. 

*'.  .  .  .  The  Quartet  had  a  tremendous  success ;  the 
papers  praise  it  to  the  skies.  But  the  papers  here  praise 
everything.  Home,  quick,  quick,  home  !  " 


6o6  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


VIII 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"FROLOVSKOE,  May  $th  (17^),  1890. 

"  I  have  been  back  four  days.  The  house  is  almost  un- 
recognisable :  the  parlour  (it  is  also  the  dining-room)  has 
become  a  beautiful  apartment,  thanks  to  the  addition  of 
Siloti's  furniture  to  mine.1  .  .  .  But  outside  the  house,  O 
horror !  The  whole — literally  every  stick — of  the  forest  has 
been  cut  down  !  Only  the  little  thicket  behind  the  church 
is  left.  Where  is  one  to  walk?  Heavens,  how  entirely 
the  disappearance  of  a  wood  changes  the  character  of 
a  place,  and  what  a  pity  it  is !  All  those  dear,  shady 
spots  that  were  there  last  year  are  now  a  bare  wilderness. 
Now  we  are  sowing  our  flowering  seeds.  I  am  doing  double 
work,  that  is  to  say,  out  of  working  hours  I  am  correcting 
proofs.  .  .  ." 

To  Ippolitov-Ivanov. 

"FROLOVSKOE,  May  $th  (17^),  1890. 

"  My  visit  abroad  brought  forth  good  fruit.  I  com- 
posed an  opera,  Pique  Dame,  which  seems  to  me  a  success, 
that  is  why  I  speak  of '  good  fruit '.  .  .  .  My  plans  for  the 
future  are  as  follows :  to  finish  the  orchestration  of  the 
opera,  to  sketch  out  a  string  sextet,  to  go  to  my  sister  at 
Kamenka  for  the  end  of  the  summer,  and  to  spend  the 
whole  autumn  with  you  at  Tiflis.  Is  your  opera  Asra 
finished  ?  I  saw  none  of  the  musical  world  in  Moscow, 
and  know  nothing  of  what  is  going  on.  Safonov  is  a 

capable  director,  but However,  we  will  talk  this  over 

when  we  meet." 

1  Siloti  had  taken  a  smaller  house,  and  made  over  part  of  his  furniture  to 
Tchaikovsky,  thinking  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  him,  for  the  composer's 
household  lacked  many  comforts.  Siloti  did  not  reclaim  the  furniture  after 
Tchaikovsky's  death,  and  it  stands  at  present  in  the  house  at  Klin. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  607 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"  FROLOVSKOE,  May  i%th  (30^),  1890. 

"YouR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS,—.  .  .  I  should  be 
delighted  to  meet  Maikov1  at  your  house  to  discuss  the 
relations  between  art  and  craftsmanship.  Ever  since  I 
began  to  compose  I  have  endeavoured  to  be  in  my  work 
just  what  the  great  masters  of  music — Mozart,  Beethoven, 
and  Schubert — were  in  theirs;  not  necessarily  to  be  as 
great  as  they  were,  but  to  work  as  they  did — as  the 
cobbler  works  at  his  trade  ;  not  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  like 
Glinka,  whose  genius,  however,  I  by  no  means  deny. 
Mozart,  Beethoven,  Schubert,  Mendelssohn,  Schumann, 
composed  their  immortal  works  just  as  a  cobbler  makes  a 
pair  of  boots — by  daily  work  ;  and  more  often  than  not 
because  they  were  ordered.  The  result  was  something 
colossal.  Had  Glinka  been  a  cobbler,  rather  than  a 
gentleman,  besides  his  two  (very  beautiful)  operas,  he 
would  have  given  us  perhaps  fifteen  others,  and  ten  fine 
symphonies  into  the  bargain.  I  could  cry  with  vexation 
when  I  think  what  Glinka  might  have  left  us,  if  he  had 
not  been  born  into  an  aristocratic  family  before  the  days 
of  the  Emancipation.  He  showed  us  what  he  could  have 
done,  but  he  never  actually  accomplished  a  twentieth 
part  of  what  it  was  in  him  to  do.  For  instance,  in  sym- 
phonic music  (Kamarinskaya>  and  the  two  Spanish  over- 
tures) he  simply  played  about  like  an  amateur — and 
yet  we  are  astonished  at  the  force  and  originality  of  his 
gifts.  What  would  he  not  have  accomplished  had  he 
worked  in  the  same  way  as  the  great  masters  of  Western 
Europe  ? 

"  Although  I  am  convinced  that  if  a  musician  desires  to 
attain  to  the  greatest  heights  to  which  his  inspiration  will 
carry  him  he  must  develop  himself  as  a  craftsman,  I  will 
not  assert  that  the  same  thing  applies  to  the  other  arts. 
For  instance,  in  the  sphere  you  have  chosen  I  do  not 
think  a  man  can  force  himself  to  create.  For  a  lyrical 
poem,  not  only  the  mood,  but  the  idea,  must  be  there. 
But  the  idea  will  be  evoked  by  some  fortuitous  phe- 

1  One  of  the  most  eminent  of  Russian  poets. 


6o8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

nomenon.  In  music  it  is  only  necessary  to  evoke  a 
certain  general  mood  or  emotion.  For  example,  to  com- 
pose an  elegy  I  must  tune  myself  to  a  melancholy  key. 
But  in  a  poet  this  melancholy  must  take  some  concrete 
expression  so  to  speak  ;  therefore  in  his  case  an  external 
impulse  is  indispensable.  But  in  all  these  things  the 
difference  between  the  various  creative  temperaments 
plays  a  great  part,  and  what  is  right  for  one  would  not 
be  permissible  for  another.  The  majority  of  my  fellow- 
workers,  for  instance,  do  not  like  working  to  order ;  I,  on 
the  other  hand,  never  feel  more  inspired  than  when  I  am 
requested  to  compose  something,  when  a  term  is  fixed  and 
I  know  that  my  work  is  being  impatiently  awaited." 

At  the  beginning  of  June,  Ippolitov-Ivanov  wrote  to 
Tchaikovsky  that  the  usual  opera  season  would  take  place 
at  Tiflis,  and  that,  besides  works  by  Tchaikovsky,  his 
own  opera  Asra  would  be  performed  there.  At  the  same 
time,  he  seems  to  have  sounded  his  friend  as  to  his 
prospects  of  succeeding  to  Altani's  post  in  Moscow. 

"  The  rumours  of  Altani's  resignation  were  false,"  replied 
Tchaikovsky,  "  and  the  work  of  his  enemies.  .  .  .  But  you 
have  no  notion  of  all  the  disagreeables  and  annoyances 
you  would  have  to  endure.  A  more  suitable  position 
for  you  would  be  a  professorship  at  the  Moscow  Con- 
servatoire. But  Safonov,  it  appears,  makes  no  propositions. 
Write  to  me  :  yes  or  no." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
" FROLOVSKOE,  June  y>th  (July  \2th\  1890. 

"...  I  find  more  and  more  delight  in  the  cultivation  of 
flowers,  and  comfort  myself  with  the  thought  of  devoting 
myself  entirely  to  this  occupation  when  my  powers  of 
composition  begin  to  decay.  Meanwhile  I  cannot  com- 
plain. Scarcely  was  the  opera  finished  before  I  took  up 
a  new  work,  the  sketch  of  which  is  already  completed. 
I  hope  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  I  have  composed  a 
sextet  for  strings.  I  know  your  love  of  chamber  music, 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  609 

and  I  am  glad  you  will  be  able  to  hear  my  sextet ;  that 
will  not  necessitate  your  going  to  a  concert,  you  can  easily 
arrange  a  performance  of  it  at  home.  I  hope  the  work 
will  please  you :  I  wrote  it  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm 
and  without  the  least  exertion." 


To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  FROLOVSKOE,  y#;z<?  $oth  (July  i2th\  1890. 

"  Yesterday  was  my  name-day.  I  had  eleven  guests  to 
dinner,  which  was  served  in  the  garden.  The  peasants 
came  again  to  get  their  money,  and  brought  cracknels,  etc. 
The  summer  is  wonderful.  My  flowers  have  never  been 
so  luxuriant.  Quantities  of  everything.  Yesterday  morn- 
ing I  had  hardly  left  the  house  before  I  came  upon  two 
splendid  white  mushrooms." 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 

"  FROLOVSKOE,  July  2nd  (14^),  1890. 

"  DEAR,  KIND  FRIEND, — At  the  same  time  as  your  letter 
yesterday,  the  composer  Arensky  came  to  see  me,  which 
delayed  my  immediate  reply.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  fully 
express  my  thanks.  But  then,  words  are  wanting  to  tell 
you  of  my  eternal  gratitude,  and  to  say  how  deeply 
touched  I  am  by  your  care  and  attention.  Acting  upon 
your  advice,  I  have  paid  two-thirds  of  the  sum  to  my 
current  account.  I  have  firmly  resolved  to  begin  to  put 
by  this  year,  so  that  in  time  I  may  buy  a  small  landed 
property — perhaps  Frolovskoe  itself,  since  I  am  very  fond 
of  it,  in  spite  of  the  demolition  of  the  woods. 

"  Arensky  has  written  an  opera,1  which  Jurgenson  has 
published.  I  had  gone  through  it  carefully  and  felt  I  must 
tell  him  exactly  what  I  thought  of  this  fine  work.  My 
letter  touched  him  so  deeply  that  he  came  here  to  thank 
me  in  person.  Arensky  is  a  man  of  remarkable  gifts,  but 
morbidly  nervous  and  lacking  in  firmness — altogether  a 
strange  man." 

1  A  Dream  on  the  Volga. 


2    R 


6io  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  P.Jurgenson. 

"July  2nd(itfh\  1890. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — The  manuscript  of  the  cantata  is  in 
the  Petersburg  Conservatoire.  I  cannot  consent  to  its 
publication,  because  it  is  an  immature  work,  for  which 
there  is  no  future.  Besides,  it  is  written  to  Schiller's  Ode 
to  Joy.  It  is  not  seemly  to  enter  into  competition  with 
Beethoven. 

"As  to  the  fate  of  The  Little  Shoes  (Les  Caprices  d'Oxane), 
I  fully  believe  it  will  come  to  have  a  place  in  the  repertory, 
and  regard  it,  musically  speaking,  as  my  best  operatic 
work. 

"  Arensky  was  here  yesterday,  and  showed  me  a  book 
of  theory.  It  is  admirably  put  together,  and  would  be  very 
useful  for  teaching  purposes.  I  strongly  recommend  you 
to  buy  it." 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 
"FROLOVSKOE,  August  $rd  (i$th),  1890. 

"  YOUR  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS, — Your  kind  and  charming 
letter  has  reached  me  on  the  eve  of  my  departure  for  a 
long  journey,  so  forgive  me  if  I  do  not  answer  it  as 
fully  as  I  ought.  But  I  have  much  to  say  in  answer  to 
your  remarks  about  Pique  Dame.  .  .  .  Your  criticisms 
of  my  sins  as  regards  declamation  are  too  lenient.  In  this 
respect  I  am  past  redemption.  I  do  not  think  I  have  per- 
petrated many  blunders  of  this  kind  in  recitative  and 
dialogue,  but  in  the  lyrical  parts,  where  my  mood  has 
carried  me  away  from  all  just  equivalents,  I  am  simply 
unconscious  of  my  mistakes — you  must  get  someone  to 
point  them  out  to  me.  .  .  . 

"  As  regards  the  repetition  of  words  and  phrases,  I  must 
say  that  my  views  differ  entirely  from  those  of  your  Im- 
perial Highness.  There  are  cases  in  which  such  repetitions 
are  quite  natural  and  in  accordance  with  truth  of  expres- 
sion. .  .  .  But  even  were  it  not  so,  I  should  not  hesitate 
for  an  instant  to  sacrifice  the  literal  to  the  artistic  truth. 
These  truths  differ  fundamentally,  and  I  could  not  forget 
the  second  in  pursuit  of  the  first,  for,  if  we  aimed  at 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  611 

pushing  realism  in  opera  to  its  extreme  limits,  we  should 
finally  have  to  abandon  opera  itself.  To  sing  instead  of 
speaking — that  is  the  climax  of  falsehood  in  the  accepted 
sense  of  the  word.  Of  course,  I  am  the  child  of  my 
generation,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  return  to  the  worn-out 
traditions  of  opera  ;  at  the  same  time  I  am  not  disposed 
to  submit  to  the  despotic  requirements  of  realistic  theories. 
I  should  be  most  grieved  to  think  that  any  portions  of 
Pique  Dame  were  repellent  to  you — for  I  hoped  the 
work  might  please  you — and  I  have  made  a  few  changes 
in  the  scene  where  the  governess  scolds  the  girls,  so  that 
all  the  repetitions  have  some  good  reason.  .  .  ." 


IX 

1890-1891 

On  December  I3th  (25th),  1890,  Tchaikovsky  received  a 
letter  from  Nadejda  von  Meek,  informing  him  that  in  con- 
sequence of  the  complicated  state  of  her  affairs  she  was 
on  the  brink  of  ruin,  and  therefore  no  longer  able  to  con- 
tinue his  allowance. 

In  the  course  of  their  correspondence,  which  extended 
over  thirteen  years,  Nadejda  Filaretovna  had  referred  more 
than  once  to  her  pecuniary  embarrassments  and  to  her  fears 
of  becoming  bankrupt.  But  each  time  she  had  added  that 
the  allowance  made  to  Tchaikovsky  could  be  in  no  way 
affected,  since  she  had  assured  it  to  him  for  life,  and  that 
the  sum  of  6,000  roubles  a  year  was  of  no  consequence  to 
her  one  way  or  the  other.  In  November,  1889,  she  had 
spoken  again  of  her  business  anxieties,  but,  as  usual,  with- 
out any  reference  to  Tchaikovsky's  pension.  On  the 
contrary,  in  the  summer  of  1890  she  showed  her  willing- 
ness to  help  him  still  further  by  advancing  him  a  consider- 
able sum.  Consequently  this  news  fell  upon  the  composer 
like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  and  provoked  the  following 
reply :— 


612  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  N.  F.  von  Meek. 
"  TIFLIS,  September  22nd  (October  tfh\  1890. 

"  DEAREST  FRIEND, — The  news  you  communicated  to 
me  in  your  last  letter  caused  me  great  anxiety  ;  not  on  my 
account,  however,  but  on  your  own.  It  would,  of  course,  be 
untrue  were  I  to  say  that  such  a  radical  change  in  my  budget 
did  not  in  any  way  affect  my  financial  position.  But  it 
ought  not  to  affect  me  so  seriously  as  you  apparently  fear. 
In  recent  years  my  earnings  have  considerably  increased, 
and  there  are  indications  that  they  will  continue  to  do  so. 
Therefore,  if  I  am  accountable  for  any  fraction  of  your 
endless  cares  and  anxieties,  I  beg  you,  for  God's  sake;  to 
be  assured  that  I  can  think  of  this  pecuniary  loss  without 
any  bitterness.  Believe  me,  this  is  the  simple  truth  ;  I  am 
no  master  of  empty  phraseology.  That  I  shall  have  to 
economise  a  little  is  of  no  importance.  What  really 
matters  is  that  you,  with  your  requirements  and  large 
ways  of  life,  should  have  to  retrench.  This  is  terribly  hard 
and  vexatious.  I  feel  as  though  I  wanted  to  lay  the  blame 
on  someone  (you  yourself  are  certainly  above  reproach), 
but  I  do  not  know  who  is  the  real  culprit  Besides,  not 
only  is  my  indignation  quite  useless,  but  I  have  no  right 
to  interfere  in  your  family  affairs.  I  would  rather  ask 
Ladislaw  Pakhulsky  to  tell  me  what  you  intend  to  do, 
where  you  will  live,  and  how  far  you  will  be  straitened 
as  to  means.  I  cannot  think  of  you  except  as  a  wealthy 
woman.  The  last  words  of  your  letter  have  hurt  me  a 
little,1  but  I  do  not  think  you  meant  them  seriously.  Do 
you  really  think  me  incapable  of  remembering  you  when 
I  no  longer  receive  your  money  ?  How  could  I  forget  for 
a  moment  all  you  have  done  for  me,  and  all  for  which 
I  owe  you  gratitude?  I  may  say  without  exaggeration 
that  you  saved  me.  I  should  certainly  have  gone  out  of  my 
mind  and  come  to  an  untimely  end  but  for  your  friendship 
and  sympathy,  as  well  as  for  the  material  assistance  (then 
my  safety  anchor),  which  enabled  me  to  rally  my  forces 
and  take  up  once  more  my  chosen  vocation.  No,  dear 
friend,  I  shall  always  remember  and  bless  you  with  my  last 

1  "Do  not  forget,  and  think  of  me  sometimes." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  613 

breath.  I  am  glad  you  can  now  no  longer  spend  your 
means  upon  me,  so  that  I  may  show  my  unbounded  and 
passionate  gratitude,  which  passes  all  words.  Perhaps  you 
yourself  hardly  suspect  how  immeasurable  has  been  your 
generosity.  If  you  did,  you  would  never  have  said  that, 
now  you  are  poor,  I  am  to  think  of  you  'sometimes!  I  can 
truly  say  that  I  have  never  forgotten  you,  and  never  shall 
forget  you  for  a  moment,  for  whenever  I  think  of  myself 
my  thoughts  turn  directly  to  you. 

"  I  kiss  your  hands,  with  all  my  heart's  warmth,  and 
implore  you  to  believe,  once  and  for  all,  that  no  one  feels 
more  keenly  for  your  troubles  than  I  do. 

"  I  will  write  another  time  about  myself  and  all  I  am 
doing.  Forgive  my  hasty,  badly  written  letter  :  I  am  too 
much  upset  to  write  well." 

To  the  above  letter  we  need  only  add  that  Tchaikovsky, 
with  his  usual  lack  of  confidence,  greatly  exaggerated 
to  himself  the  consequences  of  this  loss.  A  few  days 
later  he  wrote  to  Jurgenson  : — 

"  Now  I  must  start  quite  a  fresh  life,  on  a  totally 
different  scale  of  expenditure.  In  all  probability  I  shall 
be  compelled  to  seek  some  occupation  in  Petersburg 
which  will  bring  me  in  a  good  salary.  This  is  very,  very 
humiliating — yes,  humiliating  is  the  word  ! " 

But  this  "  humiliation "  soon  passed  away.  About 
this  time  his  pecuniary  situation  greatly  improved,  and 
the  success  of  Pique  Dame  more  than  covered  the  loss  of 
his  pension. 

Soon,  too,  he  was  relieved  as  to  the  fate  of  Nadejda 
Filaretovna,  for  he  learnt  that  her  fears  of  ruin  had  been 
unfounded,  and  her  financial  difficulties  had  almost  com- 
pletely blown  over.  But  with  this  relief — strange  as  it 
may  appear — came  also  a  sense  of  injury  which  Tchai- 
kovsky carried  to  the  grave.  No  sooner  was  he  assured 
that  his  friend  was  as  well  off  as  before,  than  he  began  to 
persuade  himself  that  her  last  letter  had  been  nothing 


614  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  but  an  excuse  to  get  rid  of  him  on  the  first  opportunity  "  ; 
that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  idealising  his  relations  with 
his  "  best  friend " ;  that  the  allowance  had  long  since 
ceased  to  be  the  outcome  of  a  generous  impulse,  and  that 
Nadejda  Filaretovna  was  no  longer  as  grateful  to  him  for 
his  ready  acceptance  of  her  help,  as  he  was  to  receive  it. 

"  Such  were  my  relations  with  her,"  he  wrote  to  Jurgen- 
son, "  that  I  never  felt  oppressed  by  her  generous  gifts  ; 
but  now  they  weigh  upon  me  in  retrospect.  My  pride  is 
hurt ;  my  faith  in  her  unfailing  readiness  to  help  me,  and 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  my  sake  is  betrayed." 

In  his  agony  of  wounded  pride  Tchaikovsky  was  driven 
to  wish  that  his  friend  had  really  been  ruined,  so  that  he 
"  might  help  her,  even  as  she  had  helped  him."  To  these 
painful  feelings  was  added  all  the  bitterness  involved  in 
seeing  their  ideal  connection  shattered  and  dissolved.  He 
felt  as  though  he  had  been  roughly  awakened  from  some 
beautiful  dream,  and  found  in  its  stead  "  a  commonplace, 
silly  joke,  which  fills  me  with  disgust  and  shame." 

But  the  worst  blow  was  yet  to  come.  Shortly  after 
receiving  Nadejda  von  Meck's  letter,  Tchaikovsky's  cir- 
cumstances— as  we  have  already  said — improved  so 
greatly  that  it  would  not  have  been  difficult  for  him  to 
have  returned  her  the  sum  she  had  allowed  him.  He 
believed,  however,  that  this  would  have  hurt  her  feelings, 
and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  mortify  in  the  smallest 
degree  the  woman  who  had  actually  been  his  saviour  at 
the  most  critical  moment  of  his  life.  The  only  way  out 
of  this  painful  situation  seemed  the  continuance  of  his 
correspondence  with  her,  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. His  advances,  however,  met  with  nothing  but 
silent  opposition  on  the  part  of  Nadejda  Filaretovna,  and 
this  proved  the  unkindest  cut  of  all.  Her  indifference  to 
his  fate,  her  lack  of  interest  in  his  work,  convinced  him 
that  things  had  never  been  what  they  seemed,  and  all  the 
old  ideal  friendship  now  appeared  to  him  as  the  whim  of 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  615 

a  wealthy  woman — the  commonplace  ending  to  a  fairy 
tale ;  while  her  last  letter  remained  like  a  blot  upon  the 
charm  and  beauty  of  their  former  intercourse.  Neither 
the  great  success  of  Pique  Dame,  nor  the  profound  sorrow 
caused  by  the  death  of  his  beloved  sister,  in  April,  1891, 
nor  even  his  triumphs  in  America,  served  to  soften  the 
blow  she  had  inflicted. 

On  June  6th  (i8th),  1891,  he  wrote  from  Moscow  to 
Ladislaw  Pakhulsky : — 

"  I  have  just  received  your  letter.  It  is  true  Nadejda 
Filaretovna  is  ill,  weak,  and  her  nerves  are  upset,  so  that 
she  can  no  longer  write  to  me  as  before.  Not  for  the 
world  would  I  add  to  her  sufferings.  I  am  grieved,  be- 
wildered, and — I  say  it  frankly — deeply  hurt  that  she  has 
ceased  to  feel  any  interest  in  me.  Even  if  she  no  longer 
desired  me  to  go  on  corresponding  directly  with  her,  it 
could  have  been  easily  arranged  for  you  and  Julia  Karl- 
ovna  to  have  acted  as  links  between  us.  But  she  has  never 
once  inquired  through  either  of  you  how  I  am  living,  or 
what  I  am  doing.  I  have  endeavoured,  through  you,  to 
re-establish  my  correspondence  with  Nadejda  Filaretovna, 
but  not  one  of  your  letters  has  contained  the  least  cour- 
teous reference  to  my  efforts.  No  doubt  you  are  aware 
that  in  September  last  she  informed  me  that  she  could  no 
longer  pay  my  pension.  You  must  also  know  how  I  re- 
plied to  her.  I  wished  and  hoped  that  our  relations  might 
remain  unchanged.  But  unhappily  this  seemed  im- 
possible, because  of  her  complete  estrangement  from 
me.  The  result  has  been  that  all  our  intercourse  was 
brought  to  an  end  directly  I  ceased  to  receive  her  money. 
This  situation  lowers  me  in  my  own  estimation  ;  makes 
the  remembrance  of  the  money  I  accepted  from  her  well- 
nigh  intolerable ;  worries  and  weighs  upon  me  more  than 
I  can  say.  When  I  was  in  the  country  last  autumn  I  re- 
read all  her  letters  to  me.  No  illness,  no  misfortune,  no 
pecuniary  anxieties  could  ever — so  it  seemed  to  me — 
change  the  sentiments  which  were  expressed  in  these 
letters.  And  yet  they  have  changed.  Perhaps  I  idealised 
Nadejda  Filaretovna  because  I  did  not  know  her  person- 


616  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

ally.  I  could  not  conceive  change  in  anyone  so  half- 
divine.  I  would  sooner  have  believed  that  the  earth  could 
fail  beneath  me  than  that  our  relations  could  suffer 
change.  But  the  inconceivable  has  happened,  and  all  my 
ideas  of  human  nature,  all  my  faith  in  the  best  of  man- 
kind, have  been  turned  upside  down.  My  peace  is  broken, 
and  the  share  of  happiness  fate  has  allotted  me  is  em- 
bittered and  spoilt. 

"  No  doubt  Nadejda  Filaretovna  has  dealt  me  this  cruel 
blow  unconsciously  and  unintentionally.  Never  in  my 
life  have  I  felt  so  lowered,  or  my  pride  so  profoundly 
injured  as  in  this  matter.  The  worst  is  that,  on  account 
of  her  shattered  health,  I  dare  not  show  her  all  the  troubles 
of  my  heart,  lest  I  should  grieve  or  upset  her. 

"  I  may  not  speak  out,  which  would  be  my  sole  relief. 
However,  let  this  suffice.  Even  as  it  is,  I  may  regret 
having  said  all  this — but  I  felt  the  need  of  giving  vent  to 
some  of  my  bitterness.  Of  course,  I  do  not  wish  a  word 
to  be  said  to  her. 

"  Should  she  ever  inquire  about  me,  say  I  returned  safely 
from  America  and  have  settled  down  to  work  in  Maidanovo. 
You  may  add  that  I  am  well. 

"  Do  not  answer  this  letter." 

Nadejda  Filaretovna  made  no  response  to  this  commu- 
nication. Pakhulsky  assured  Tchaikovsky  that  her  apparent 
indifference  was  the  result  of  a  serious  nervous  illness,  but 
that  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  still  cared  for  her  old  friend. 
He  returned  the  above  letter  to  Tchaikovsky,  because  he 
dare  not  give  it  to  Nadejda  Filaretovna  during  her  illness, 
and  did  not  consider  himself  justified  in  keeping  it. 

This  was  Tchaikovsky's  last  effort  to  win  back  the 
affection  of  his  "  best  friend."  But  the  wound  remained 
unhealed,  a  cause  of  secret  anguish  which  darkened  his  life 
to  the  end.  Even  on  his  death-bed  the  name  of  Nadejda 
Filaretovna  was  constantly  on  his  lips,  and  in  the  broken 
phrases  of  his  last  delirium  these  words  alone  were  intel- 
ligible to  those  around  him. 

Before  taking  leave  of  this  personality  who  played  so 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  617 

benevolent  a  part  in  Tchaikovsky's  existence,  let  it  be  said, 
in  extenuation  of  her  undeserved  cruelty,  that  from  1890 
Nadejda  von  Meck's  life  was  a  slow  decline,  brought  about 
by  a  terrible  nervous  disease,  which  changed  her  relations 
not  only  to  him,  but  to  others.  The  news  of  his  end 
reached  her  on  her  death-bed,  and  two  months  later  she, 
too,  passed  away,  on  January  I3th  (25th),  1894. 


X 

Early  in  September,  1890,  Tchaikovsky  spent  a  day  or 
two  in  Kiev  on  his  way  to  Tiflis.  In  the  former  town  he 
learnt  that  Prianichnikov,  a  favourite  singer  and  theatrical 
impresario,  was  anxious  to  produce  Dame  de  Pique.  The 
idea  pleased  Tchaikovsky,  for,  thanks  to  Prianichnikov's 
energy,  the  opera  at  Kiev  almost  surpassed  that  of  Moscow 
as  regards  ensemble  and  the  excellence  of  the  staging  in 
general. 

On  October  2Oth  (November  1st)  Tchaikovsky  conducted 
a  concert  given  by  the  Tiflis  branch  of  the  Musical  Society, 
the  programme  of  which  was  drawn  exclusively  from  his 
own  works.  The  evening  was  a  great  success  for  the  com- 
poser, who  received  a  perfect  ovation  and  was  "  almost 
smothered  in  flowers,"  besides  being  presented  with  a  baton. 

Tiflis  was  the  first  town  to  welcome  Tchaikovsky  with 
cordiality  and  enthusiasm  ;  it  was  also  the  first  to  accord 
him  a  warm  and  friendly  farewell,  destined,  alas  !  to  be  for 
eternity. 

On  his  return  to  Frolovskoe  he  busied  himself  with  the 
collected  edition  of  his  songs,  which  Jurgenson  proposed 
to  issue  shortly.  The  composer  stipulated  that  the  songs 
should  be  reprinted  in  their  original  keys,  for,  as  he  writes  to 
Jurgenson  :  "  I  have  neither  strength  nor  patience  to  look 
through  all  the  transpositions,  which  have  been  very  badly 
done,  and  are  full  of  the  stupidest  mistakes." 


6i8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

From  Frolovskoe  Tchaikovsky  went  to  Petersburg,  about 
the  middle  of  November,  to  attend  the  rehearsals  for  his 
latest  opera,  Pique  Dame.  During  his  stay  at  the  Hotel 
Rossiya  he  arranged  an  audition  of  his  newly  composed 
sextet.  The  instrumentalists  were  :  Albrecht,  Hildebrandt, 
Wierzbilowicz,  Hille,  Kouznietsov  and  Heine.  As  audience, 
he  invited  Glazounov,  Liadov,  Laroche,  and  a  few  friends 
and  relatives.  Neither  his  hearers,  nor  the  composer 
himself,  were  equally  pleased  with  all  the  movements  of 
the  sextet,  so  that  he  eventually  resolved  to  rewrite 
the  Scherzo  and  Finale.  Apart  from  this  one  disap- 
pointment, the  rest  of  his  affairs — including  the  rehearsals 
— went  so  well  that  his  prevailing  mood  at  this  time  was 
cheerful ;  although  the  numerous  festivities  given  in  his 
honour  hindered  him  from  keeping  up  his  correspondence 
during  this  visit  to  Petersburg.  Not  a  single  letter  ap- 
pears to  exist  dating  from  these  weeks  of  his  life. 

On  December  6th  (i8th)  a  rehearsal  of  the  opera  was 
given  before  their  Imperial  Majesties  and  many  leaders  of 
society  in  the  capital.  The  success  of  the  work  was  very 
evident ;  yet  Tchaikovsky  had  an  idea  that  the  Emperor 
did  not  care  for  it.  As  we  shall  see,  later  on,  he  was  quite 
mistaken  in  coming  to  this  conclusion. 

The  first  public  representation  took  place  on  December 
7th  (iQth),  1890,  just  a  year  after  the  commencement  of 
the  work.  Not  one  of  Tchaikovsky's  operas  had  a  better 
caste  than  Pique  Dame.  The  part  of  Hermann  was  taken 
by  the  celebrated  singer  Figner,  while  the  heroine  was 
represented  by  his  wife.  The  roles  of  the  old  Countess 
and  Paulina  were  respectively  allotted  to  Slavina  and 
Dolina.  Each  of  these  leading  singers  distinguished  them- 
selves in  some  special  quality  of  their  art.  Throughout 
the  entire  evening  artists  and  audience  alike  experienced 
a  sense  of  complete  satisfaction,  rarely  felt  during  any 
operatic  performance.  Napravnik  as  conductor,  and 
Figner  in  the  part  of  hero,  surpassed  themselves,  and  did 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  619 

most  to  ensure  the  success  of  the  opera.  The  scenery 
and  dresses,  by  their  beauty  and  historical  accuracy,  were 
worthy  of  the  fine  musical  interpretation. 

The  applause  increased  steadily  to  the  end  of  the  work, 
and  composer  and  singers  were  frequently  recalled.  At 
the  same  time,  no  one  would  have  ventured  to  predict 
that  the  opera  would  even  now  be  holding  its  own  in  the 
repertory,  for  there  was  no  question  of  a  great  ovation. 

The  critics  not  only  unanimously  condemned  the  libretto, 
but  did  not  approve  of  the  music.  One  remarked  :  "  As 
regards  instrumentation,  Tchaikovsky  is  certainly  a  great 
poet ;  but  in  the  actual  music  he  not  only  repeats  himself, 
but  does  not  shrink  from  imitating  other  composers?  Another 
thought  this  "  the  weakest  of  all  his  efforts  at  opera."  A 
third  called  the  work  "  a  card  problem,"  and  declared  that, 
musically  speaking,  "the  accessories  prevailed  over  the 
essential  ideas,  and  external  brilliance  over  the  inner 
content." 

A  few  days  after  the  first  performance  of  Pique  Dame 
in  St.  Petersburg,  Tchaikovsky  went  through  the  same 
experience  in  Kiev,  with  this  difference,  that  the  reception 
of  the  opera  in  the  southern  city  far  surpassed  in  en- 
thusiasm that  which  had  been  accorded  to  it  in  the  capital. 

"It  was  indescribable,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother  on 
December  2ist  (January  2nd,  1891).  "I  am  very  tired, 
however,  and  in  reality  I  suffer  a  great  deal.  My  un- 
certainty as  to  the  immediate  future  weighs  upon  me. 
Shall  I  give  up  the  idea  of  wandering  abroad  or  not  ?  Is 
it  wise  to  accept  the  offer  of  the  Opera  Direction,1  for  the 
sextet  seems  to  point  to  the  fact  that  I  am  going  down- 
hill ?  My  brain  is  empty ;  I  have  not  the  least  pleasure 
in  work.  Hamlet*  oppresses  me  terribly." 

1  To  compose  an  opera  in  one  act  and  a  ballet  for  the  season  1891-2. 

2  Incidental  music  to  the  tragedy  Hamlet,  for  Guitry's  benefit. 


620  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

To  Ippolitov-Ivanov. 
"KAMENKA,  December  24^,  1890  (January  $th,  1891). 

"In  Petersburg  I  frequently  saw  the  Intendant  of  the 
Opera,  and  tried  to  throw  out  a  bait  with  regard  to  your 
Asra.  I  shall  be  able  to  go  more  closely  into  the  matter 
in  January,  but  I  can  tell  you  already  there  is  little  hope 
for  next  year.  Rimsky-Korsakov's  Mlada  is  being  con- 
sidered, and  I  am  commissioned  to  write  a  one-act  opera 
and  a  ballet.  ...  In  this  way  I  am  involuntarily  a 
hindrance  to  the  younger  composers,  who  would  be  glad 
to  see  their  works  performed  at  the  Imperial  Opera. 
This  troubles  me,  but  the  temptation  is  too  great,  and  I 
am  not  yet  convinced  that  the  time  has  come  for  me  to 
make  room  for  the  younger  generation.  ...  As  I  have 
also  asked  Kondratiev — at  Arensky's  request — to  persuade 
the  Direction  into  giving  a  performance  of  his  Dream  on 
the  Volga,  I  must  warn  you  that  you  will  meet  with  great 
difficulties  in  gaining  your  end.  .  .  .  No  one  knows  better 
than  I  do  how  important  it  is  for  a  young  composer  to  get 
his  works  performed  at  a  great  theatre,  therefore  I  would 
be  willing  to  make  some  sacrifice,  if  I  were  sure  it  would 
be  of  any  use.  But  supposing  I  were  to  relinquish  my 
commission  to  compose  an  opera  and  a  ballet.  What 
would  be  the  result?  They  would  rather  put  on  three 
foreign  operas  than  risk  a  new  Russian  one  by  a  young 
composer." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"KAMENKA,  January  ist  (13^),  1890. 

"Do  you  sometimes  give  a  thought  to  King  Rene's 
Daughter?1  It  is  very  probable  that  I  shall  end  by 
going  to  work  in  Italy.  In  that  case  the  libretto  ought  to 
be  in  my  hands  by  the  end  of  January.  And  the  ballet  ? 
I  shall  spend  a  fortnight  at  Frolovskoe." 

The  time  Tchaikovsky  now  spent  at  Frolovskoe  was 
devoted  to  the  Hamlet  music,  which  he  had  promised 
Guitry  should  be  ready  in  February. 

1  An  opera  in  one  act,  afterwards  known  as  lolanthe. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  621 

Not  one  of  his  works  inspired  him  with  less  enthusiasm 
than  this.  As  a  rule  he  rather  enjoyed  working  to  order, 
but  he  took  up  this  task  with  great  repugnance,  because 
he  had  to  begin  by  arranging  the  existing  Hamlet  overture, 
originally  written  for  full  orchestra,  for  the  small  band  of 
the  Michael  Theatre.  At  his  request  the  orchestra  of 
twenty-nine  was  increased  by  seven  musicians,  but  there 
was  no  room  to  accommodate  a  larger  number.  In  spite 
of  his  disinclination  for  the  work,  Tchaikovsky  succeeded 
in  composing  several  numbers  which  delighted  the  public ; 
while  one  movement  (  The  Funeral  March)  became  exceed- 
ingly popular. 

Tchaikovsky  arrived  at  Frolovskoe  on  January  6th 
(i8th),  and  immediately  telegraphed  to  the  concert  agent, 
Wolft  that  he  would  be  unable  to  fulfil  the  engagements 
made  for  him  at  Mainz,  Buda-Pesth,  and  Frankfort. 

It  was  not  merely  the  composition  of  the  Hamlet 
music  which  caused  him  to  relinquish  these  engagements ; 
at  this  time  he  was  suffering  from  a  nervous  affection  of 
the  right  hand,  which  made  conducting  a  matter  of  con- 
siderable difficulty. 

To  S.  I.  Taneiev. 

11 January  itfh  (26^),  1891. 

"  The  question  :  How  should  opera  be  written  ?  is  one  I 
answer,  have  answered,  and  always  shall  answer,  in  the 
simplest  way.  Operas,  like  everything  else,  should  be 
written  just  as  they  come  to  us.  I  always  try  to  express 
in  the  music  as  truthfully  and  sincerely  as  possible  all 
there  is  in  the  text.  But  truth  and  sincerity  are  not  the 
result  of  a  process  of  reasoning,  but  the  inevitable  outcome 
of  our  inmost  feelings.  In  order  that  these  feelings  should 
have  warmth  and  vitality,  I  always  choose  subjects  in 
which  I  have  to  deal  with  real  men  and  women,  who  share 
the  same  emotions  as  myself.  That  is  why  I  cannot  bear 
the  Wagnerian  subjects,  in  which  there  is  so  little  human 
interest.  Neither  would  I  have  chosen  your  subject,  with 
its  supernatural  agencies,  its  inevitable  crimes,  its  Eume- 


622  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

nides  and  Fates  as  dramatis  persona.  As  soon  as  I  have 
found  a  subject,  and  decided  to  compose  an  opera,  I  give 
free  rein  to  my  feelings,  neither  trying  to  carry  out 
Wagner's  principles,  nor  striving  after  originality.  At  the 
same  time  I  make  no  conscious  effort  to  go  against  the 
spirit  of  my  time.  If  Wagner  had  not  existed,  probably 
my  compositions  would  have  been  different  to  what  they 
are.  I  may  add  that  even  the  *  Invincible  Band '  has  had 
some  influence  on  my  operas.  Italian  music,  which  I 
loved  passionately  from  my  childhood,  and  Glinka,  whom 
I  idolised  in  my  youth,  have  both  influenced  me  deeply,  to 
say  nothing  of  Mozart.  But  I  never  invoked  any  one  of 
these  musical  deities  and  bade  him  dispose  of  my  musical 
conscience  as  he  pleased.  Consequently  I  do  not  think 
any  of  my  operas  can  be  said  to  belong  to  a  particular 
school.  Perhaps  one  of  these  influences  may  occasionally 
have  gained  the  upper  hand  and  I  have  fallen  into  imita- 
tion ;  but  whatever  happened  came  of  itself,  and  I  am 
sure  I  appear  in  my  works  just  as  God  made  me,  and 
such  as  I  have  become  through  the  action  of  time,  nation- 
ality, and  education.  I  have  never  been  untrue  to  myself. 
What  I  am,  whether  good  or  bad,  others  must  judge  for 
me.  .  .  . 

"Arensky's  opera1  did  not  please  me  much  when  he 
played  me  fragments  of  it  in  Petersburg  after  his  illness. 
I  liked  it  a  little  better  when  he  played  it  to  you  at  Altani's ; 
far  more  when  I  went  through  it  myself  this  summer ;  and 
now,  having  seen  it  actually  performed,  I  think  it  one  of 
the  best  of  Russian  operas.  It  is  very  elegant  and  equal 
throughout ;  only  the  end  lacks  something  of  inspiration. 
It  has  one  defect :  a  certain  monotony  of  method  which 
reminds  me  of  Korsakov.  .  .  .  Arensky  is  extraordinarily 
clever  in  music  ;  everything  is  so  subtly  and  truly  thought 
out.  He  is  a  very  interesting  musical  personality." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"January  \$th  (27^),  1891. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — Wolf  has  sent  me  the  letter  from 
that  American  gentleman  who  has  arranged  for  my  en- 

1  A  Dream  on  the  Volga  (the  Voyevode). 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  623 

gagement.  It  is  so  easy  and  profitable  that  it  would  be 
foolish  to  lose  this  opportunity  of  an  American  tour,  which 
has  long  been  one  of  my  dreams.  This  explains  my  tele- 
gram to  you  yesterday.  In  America,  the  news  that  I 
could  not  go,  because  my  right  hand  was  disabled,  reached 
them  by  cable,  and  they  were  very  much  upset.  Now  they 
are  awaiting  an  answer — yes  or  no." 

To  the  same. 

"January  17 th  (29^),  1891. 

"  DEAR  SOUL, — Send  me  immediately  my  Legend  for 
chorus,  and  the  Liturgy  and  other  church  works,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Vespers.  I  must  make  a  selection  for 
the  American  festival.1  Have  you  the  Children's  Songs 
in  Ranter's  edition?  I  want  the  German  text  for  the 
Legend." 

At  the  close  of  January  Tchaikovsky  went  to  St.  Peters- 
burg. Early  in  February  he  had  to  conduct  at  a  concert 
in  aid  of  the  school  founded  by  the  Women's  Patriotic 
League.  This  annual  concert  drew  a  fashionable  audience, 
who  only  cared  for  the  singing  of  such  stars  as  Melba  and 
the  De  Reszkes.  Consequently  Tchaikovsky's  Third  Suite 
merely  served  to  try  their  patience. 

His  reception  on  the  Qth,  at  the  performance  of  Hamlet 
(at  the  Michael  Theatre),  was  equally  poor.  But  he  was 
agreeably  surprised  at  the  individual  criticisms  of  his 
music  which  reached  his  ears.  "  I  am  not  averse  from 
your  idea  of  publishing  the  Hamlet  music,"  he  wrote  to 
Jurgenson,  "  for  it  pleased,  and  everyone  is  delighted  with 
the  March." 

Meanwhile  the  Direction  of  the  Imperial  Opera  were 
discussing  the  opera  and  ballet  which  Tchaikovsky  had 
been  commissioned  to  compose.  For  the  former,  Herz's 
play,  King  Renfs  Daughter — translated  into  Russian  by 
Zvanstiev — was  chosen ;  and  for  the  ballet,  Casse-Noisette 

1  The  opening  ceremony  of  the  new  Carnegie  Hall  in  New  York. 


624  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

("The  Nut-cracker").  Neither  of  these  subjects  awoke  in 
Tchaikovsky  that  joy  of  creation  he  had  experienced  while 
composing  The  Sleeping  Beauty  and  Pique  Dame.  There 
were  several  reasons  for  this.  The  Casse-Noisette  subject 
did  not  at  all  please  him.  He  had  chosen  King  Rene's 
Daughter  himself,  but  he  did  not  know  as  yet  how  the 
libretto  would  suit  him.  He  was  also  annoyed  with  the 
Direction  because  they  had  engaged  foreign  singers,  and 
were  permitting  them  to  sing  in  French  and  Italian  at  the 
Russian  Opera.  Thirdly,  in  view  of  the  American  tour, 
he  did  not  feel  master  of  his  time,  and  really  had  no  idea 
how  he  should  get  through  so  much  music  by  December, 
1891.  Finally,  he  was  very  deeply  mortified. 

The  source  of  his  vexation  lay  in  the  fact  that  after  its 
thirteenth  performance  Pique  Dame  was  unexpectedly 
withdrawn  until  the  autumn,  although  almost  all  the 
tickets  had  been  secured  beforehand  for  at  least  another 
ten  performances.  No  definite  reason  was  assigned  for 
this  action,  which  was  the  outcome  of  mere  caprice  on  the 
part  of  some  unknown  person.  Tchaikovsky's  anxiety 
was  aggravated  by  the  fear  that  his  favourite  work  might 
disappear  altogether  from  the  repertory.  He  suspected 
that  its  withdrawal  was  ordered  at  the  desire  of  the 
Emperor,  who — so  he  fancied — did  not  like  the  opera. 
Anyone  else  would  have  discovered  the  real  reason  by  the 
medium  of  inquiry,  but  Tchaikovsky  was  prevented  from 
speaking  of  it  in  Petersburg  "  by  pride  and  fear,"  as  he 
wrote  to  Jurgenson,  "  lest  people  should  think  I  was 
regretting  the  royalty ;  and,  on  their  part,  the  members  of 
the  operatic  Direction  carefully  avoided  mentioning  the 
subject  to  me."  After  a  while  he  poured  out  his  heart  in 
a  letter  to  Vsievolojsky,  who,  in  reply,  entirely  reassured 
him  as  to  his  fears.  The  Emperor,  he  said,  was  very 
pleased  with  Pique  Dame,  and  all  that  Tchaikovsky  com- 
posed for  the  opera  in  Petersburg  awakened  a  lively 
interest  in  the  Imperial  box.  "  Personally,  I  need  not  '  lay 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  625 

floral  tributes'  before  you,"  he  concludes,  "  for  you  know 
how  greatly  I  admire  your  talents.  ...  In  Pique  Dame 
your  dramatic  power  stands  out  with  startling  effect  in 
two  scenes :  the  death  of  the  Countess  and  Hermann's 
madness.  I  think  you  should  keep  to  intimate  drama 
and  avoid  grandiose  subjects.  Jamais,  au  grand  jamais^ 
vous  ne  m'avez  impressione  comme  dans  ces  deux  tableaux 
d*un  rfalisme  saissisant" 

Comforted  by  this  letter,  Tchaikovsky  set  to  work  upon 
his  new  ballet,  Casse-Noisette.  "  I  am  working  with  all 
my  might,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother  from  Frolovskoe, 
"  and  I  am  growing  more  reconciled  to  the  subject.  I 
hope  to  finish  a  considerable  part  of  the  first  act  before 
I  go  abroad." 

Early  in  March  he  left  Frolovskoe  and  travelled  to 
Paris,  vid  St.  Petersburg. 

To    Vladimir  Davidov. 

"BERLIN,  March  %th  (20^),  1891. 

"Against  this  form  of  home-sickness,  that  you  have 
hardly  experienced  as  yet,  which  is  more  agonising  than 
anything  in  this  world,  there  is  but  one  remedy — to  get 
drunk.  Between  Eydkuhnen  and  Berlin  I  consumed  an 
incredible  amount  of  wine  and  brandy ;  consequently 
I  slept,  though  badly.  .  .  .  To-day  I  am  less  home-sick, 
yet  all  the  while  I  feel  as  though  some  vampire  were  suck- 
ing at  my  heart.  I  have  a  headache,  and  feel  weak,  so 
I  shall  spend  the  night  in  Berlin.  .  .  .  After  the  midday 
meal  I  shall  take  a  long  walk  through  the  town  and  go 
to  a  concert  where  my  '  1812 '  overture  is  being  played. 

"  It  is  great  fun  to  sit  incognito  among  a  strange  audience 
and  listen  to  one's  own  works.  I  leave  to-morrow,  and 
my  next  letter  will  be  written  from  Paris.  Bob,  I  idolise 
you !  Do  you  remember  how  I  once  told  you  that  the 
happiness  your  presence  gave  me  was  nothing  compared 
to  all  I  suffered  in  your  absence  ?  Away  from  home,  with 
the  prospect  of  long  weeks  and  months  apart,  I  feel  the 
full  meaning  of  my  affection  for  you." 

2    S 


626  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  I  had  already  been  in  Paris  a  month  when  my  brother 
arrived  on  March  loth  (22nd),"  says  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 
"  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him  abroad,  except  in 
a  very  intimate  circle.  Now  I  saw  him  as  the  artist  on 
tour.  This  period  has  left  an  unpleasant  impression  on 
my  memory.  He  had  not  told  me  the  hour  of  his  arrival, 
and  I  only  knew  of  it  when  I  returned  one  evening  to  my 
hotel.  He  was  already  asleep,  and  the  servants  told  me 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  aroused.  This,  in  itself,  was  a 
symptom  of  an  abnormal  frame  of  mind.  As  a  rule  he 
was  eager  for  the  first  hour  of  meeting.  We  met  the  next 
morning,  and  he  evinced  no  sign  of  pleasure,  only  wondered 
how  I — who  was  under  no  obligation — could  care  to  stay 
so  long  away  from  Russia.  A  chilling  and  gloomy  look, 
his  cheeks  flushed  with  excitement,  a  bitter  laugh  upon 
his  lips — this  is  how  I  always  remember  Peter  Ilich  during 
that  visit  to  Paris.  We  saw  very  little  of  each  other  ;  he 
was  continually  occupied  either  with  Colonne,  or  Mackar, 
or  somebody.  Or  he  sat  in  his  room  surrounded  by 
visitors  of  all  kinds.  The  real  Peter  Ilich  only  reappeared 
in  the  evening  when,  in  the  society  of  Sophie  Menter, 
Sapellnikov,  and  Konius — a  young  violinist  in  Colonne's 
orchestra,  formerly  his  pupil  in  Moscow — he  rested  after 
the  rush  and  bustle  of  the  day." 

The  concert  which  Tchaikovsky  was  to  conduct  in  Paris 
on  March  24th  (April  5th)  was  the  twenty- third  of  Colonne's 
series,  and  the  French  conductor  had  relinquished  his 
place  for  the  occasion  because  he  himself  was  engaged  in 
Moscow.  The  colossal  programme  included :  (i)  the 
Third  Suite,  (2)  Pianoforte  Concerto  No.  2  (Sapellnikov), 
(3)  Strtnade  Melancolique  (Johann  Wolf),  (4)  Songs,  (5) 
Andante  from  the  First  Quartet  (arranged  for  string 
orchestra),  (6)  Symphonic  Fantasia,  The  Tempest,  (7) 
Slavonic  March.  The  room  was  crowded,  and  all  the  works 
met  with  notable  success.  The  Press  was  also  unanimous 
in  its  favourable  verdict. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  627 

But  nothing  could  appease  Tchaikovsky's  home-sickness. 
There  still  remained  twelve  days  before  he  sailed  from 
Havre  for  America.  Partly  to  work  at  his  opera  and 
ballet,  partly  to  have  a  little  rest  and  freedom,  he  decided 
to  spend  ten  days  at  Rouen.  On  April  4th  Sophie  Menter, 
Sapellnikov,  and  myself  were  to  meet  him  there,  and  see 
him  off  the  following  day  from  Havre. 

This  plan  was  not  carried  out,  however,  for  on  March  29th 
I  received  a  telegram  informing  me  of  the  death  of  our 
sister  Alexandra  Davidov. 

For  some  years  past,  in  consequence  of  a  serious  illness, 
which  gradually  cut  her  off  from  her  relations  with  others, 
this  sister  had  not  played  so  important  a  part  in  the  life  of 
Peter  Ilich.  Continually  fighting  against  her  malady, 
sorely  tried  by  the  death  of  her  two  elder  daughters, 
she  could  not  keep  up  the  same  interest  as  of  old  in 
her  brother's  existence.  Yet  he  loved  her  dearly,  and 
she  was  as  essential  to  his  happiness  as  ever.  She,  who 
had  been  to  him  a  haven  and  a  refuge  from  all  the  troubles 
of  life,  was  still  the  holiest  reliquary  of  his  childhood,  his 
youth,  and  the  Kamenka  period  of  his  life ;  for,  together 
with  Nadejda  von  Meek,  she  had  been  his  chief  support, 
making  him  welcome,  and  bestowing  upon  him  the  most 
affectionate  attention. 

I  was  aware  that  the  news  of  her  death  would  come  as 
a  crushing  blow  to  my  brother,  and  felt  it  imperative  to 
break  it  to  him  in  person.  The  same  day  I  set  out  for 
Rouen.  Peter  Ilich  was  as  delighted  to  see  me  as  though 
we  had  not  met  for  ages.  It  was  not  difficult  to  guess  at 
the  overwhelming  loneliness  which  he  had  experienced 
during  his  voluntary  exile.  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
I  found  it  hard  to  damp  his  cheerful  mood,  I  became  more 
and  more  preoccupied  with  the  idea:  was  it  wise  to  tell 
him  of  our  loss  under  the  present  circumstances  ?  I  knew 
it  was  too  late  for  him  to  give  up  his  journey  to  America. 
He  had  already  taken  his  ticket  to  New  York.  What 


628  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

would  he  have  done  during  the  long  voyage  alone,  which 
he  already  dreaded,  had  he  been  overweighted  with  this 
grief?  In  America,  distracted  by  the  anxieties  of  his 
concerts,  the  sad  news  would  not  come  as  so  great  a 
shock.  Therefore,  in  answer  to  his  question,  why  had 
I  come,  I  did  not  reveal  the  truth,  but  simply  said  that  I, 
too,  felt  home-sick,  and  had  come  to  say  good-bye  before 
starting  for  Russia  the  next  day.  He  seemed  almost 
pleased  at  my  news.  .  .  .  Incomprehensible  to  others, 
I  understood  his  satisfaction.  He  had  often  said : 
"  Modeste  is  too  closely  akin  to  myself."  In  Paris,  it 
vexed  him  to  realise  that  I  did  not  yearn  for  our  native 
land.  Now  that  he  believed  I  was  content  to  cut  short 
my  stay  abroad,  he  forgave  me,  and  our  meeting  was 
as  hearty  as  though  we  had  come  together  after  a  long 
separation.  This  made  it  all  the  more  difficult  to  tell  him 
what  had  happened,  and  I  returned  to  Paris  after  a  touch- 
ing farewell,  without  having  broken  the  news  to  him. 
I  had  warned  our  friends  in  Paris,  and  there  were  no 
Russian  newspapers  to  be  had  in  Rouen.  All  letters 
from  home  were  to  be  addressed  to  the  Hotel  Richepanse, 
whence  I  requested  that  they  should  be  forwarded  straight 
to  America. 

Firmly  convinced  that  my  brother  would  not  receive  the 
melancholy  news  until  he  reached  New  York,  I  started  for 
St.  Petersburg. 

But  no  sooner  had  his  brother  left  Rouen  than  Tchai- 
kovsky's depression  reached  a  climax.  First  of  all  he 
wrote  to  Vsievolojsky  that  he  could  not  possibly  have  the 
ballet  and  opera  ready  before  the  season  of  1 892-3 ;  and 
then  he  resolved  to  return  to  Paris  for  a  couple  of  days,  to 
distract  his  anxiety  as  to  the  approaching  journey. 

On  his  arrival  the  truth  became  known  to  him,  and  he 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  his  brother : — 

"  Modi,  yesterday  I  went  to  Paris.  There  I  visited  the 
reading-room  in  the  Passage  de  TOpera,  took  up  the 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  629 

Novoe  Vremya  and  read  the  announcement  of  Sasha's 
death.  I  started  up  as  though  a  snake  had  stung  me. 
Later  on  I  went  to  Sophie  Menter's  and  Sapellnikov's. 
What  a  fortunate  thing  they  were  here  !  I  spent  the  night 
with  them.  To-day  I  start,  via  Rouen  and  Le  Havre.  At 
first  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  give  up  America  and  go 
to  Petersburg,  but  afterwards  I  reflected  that  this  would 
be  useless.  I  should  have  had  to  return  the  5,000  francs 
I  had  received,  to  relinquish  the  rest,  and  lose  my  ticket. 
No,  I  must  go  to  America.  Mentally  I  am  suffering 
much.  I  am  very  anxious  about  Bob,  although  I  know 
from  my  own  experience  that  at  his  age  we  easily  recover 
from  such  blows. 

".  .  .  .  For  God's  sake  write  all  details  to  New  York. 
To-day,  even  more  than  yesterday,  I  feel  the  absolute  im- 
possibility of  depicting  in  music  the  *  Sugar-plum  Fairy.' " 


XI 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  S.S.  '  LA  BRETAGNE,'  ATLANTIC  OCEAN, 
" April  bth  (iSst),  1891. 

"  During  the  voyage  I  shall  keep  a  diary,  and  send  it  to 
you  when  I  get  to  New  York.  Please  take  care  of  it,  for 
I  mean  to  write  an  article  later  on,  for  which  my  diary 
will  serve  as  material.  .  .  .  The  ship  is  one  of  the  largest 
and  most  luxurious.  I  dined  in  Le  Havre,  walked  about 
a  little,  and  at  10  p.m.  made  myself  comfortable  in  my 
cabin.  .  .  .  There  I  suddenly  felt  more  miserable  than 
ever.  Principally  because  I  had  received  no  answer  to  my 
telegram  to  Petersburg.  I  cannot  think  why.  Probably 
the  usual  telegraphic  blunder,  but  it  is  very  hard  to  leave 
without  any  news.  ...  I  curse  this  voyage. 

"  The  ship  is  superb.  A  veritable  floating  palace.  There 
are  not  a  great  number  of  passengers,  about  eighty  in  the 
first  class.  ...  At  dinner  I  sit  at  a  little  table  with  an 
American  family.  Very  uncomfortable  and  wearisome. 

"At  five  o'clock  there  was  a  tragic  occurrence,  which  had 
a  depressing  effect  upon  me  and  all  the  other  passengers. 


630  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  was  below,  when  suddenly  a  whistle  was  heard,  the  ship 
hove  to,  and  everyone  was  greatly  excited.  A  boat  was 
lowered.  I  went  on  deck  and  heard  that  a  young  man, 
a  second-class  passenger,  had  suddenly  taken  out  his 
pocket-book,  scribbled  a  few  words  in  haste,  thrown  him- 
self overboard  and  disappeared  beneath  the  waves.  A 
life-belt  was  flung  to  him,  and  a  boat  was  lowered  im- 
mediately, which  was  watched  with  the  greatest  anxiety 
by  all  of  us.  But  nothing  was  to  be  seen  on  the  surface 
of  the  sea,  and  after  half  an  hour's  search  we  continued 
our  course.  In  his  pocket-book  was  found  thirty-five 
francs,  and  on  a  sheet  of  paper  a  few  words  hardly 
decipherable.  I  was  the  first  to  make  them  out,  for  they 
were  written  in  German,  and  all  the  passengers  were 
French  or  Americans.  *  Ich  bin  unschuldig^  der  Bursche 
weint  .  .  .'  followed  by  a  few  scrawls  no  one  could  read. 
Afterwards  I  heard  that  the  young  man  had  attracted 
attention  by  his  strange  conduct,  and  was  probably  insane. 
"  The  weather  is  beautiful,  and  the  sea  quite  calm.  The 
ship  moves  so  quietly  that  one  can  hardly  believe  oneself 
on  the  water.  We  have  just  seen  the  lighthouse  at  the 
Lizard.  The  last  sight  of  land  before  we  reach  New 
York." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"April  ith  (19^),   1891. 

"  Early  this  morning  the  tossing  began,  and  grew  grad- 
ually worse,  until  at  times  I  felt  horribly  nervous.  It 
was  a  comfort  that  most  of  the  passengers  had  made  the 
voyage  very  often,  and  were  not  in  the  least  afraid  of 
going  down,  as  I  was,  only  of  being  sea-sick.  I  was  not 
afraid  of  that,  for  I  felt  no  symptoms  whatever.  The 
steward  to  whom  I  spoke  called  it '  une  mer  un  peu  grossed 
What  must '  une  mer  tres  grosse '  be  like  ?  The  aspect  of 
the  sea  is  very  fine,  and  when  I  am  free  from  alarm  I 
enjoy  watching  the  grand  spectacle.  I  am  interested  in 
three  huge  sea-gulls  which  are  following  us.  They  say  they 
will  go  with  us  to  Newfoundland.  When  do  they  rest, 
and  where  do  they  spend  the  night  ?  I  read  all  day,  for 
there  is  nothing  else  to  do.  Composition  goes  against  the 
grain.  I  am  very  depressed.  When  I  opened  my  heart 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  631 

to  my  acquaintance,  the  commercial  traveller  in  the  second 
class,  he  replied,  *  Well,  at  your  age  it  is  very  natural,' 
which  hurt  my  feelings.  ...  I  would  rather  not  say  what 
I  feel.  .  .  .  It  is  for  the  last  time.  ...  When  one  gets  to 
my  years  it  is  best  to  stay  at  home,  close  to  one's  own 
folk.  The  thought  of  being  so  far  from  all  who  are  dear 
to  me  almost  kills  me.  But  otherwise  I  am  quite  well, 
thank  God.  A  *  miss '  has  been  singing  Italian  songs  the 
whole  evening,  and  her  performance  was  so  abominable, 
such  an  effrontery,  that  I  was  surprised  no  one  said  any- 
thing rude  to  her." 

To  M.  Tchaikovsky. 

"  April  %th  (2o//fr),  1891. 

"  I  had  a  good  night.  When  everyone  had  gone  to  bed 
I  walked  for  a  long  time  on  deck.  The  wind  went  down, 
and  it  was  quite  calm  by  the  time  I  went  to  my  cabin. 
To-day  it  is  sunny,  but  the  wind  has  been  getting  up  since 
midday.  There  is  now  a  head  sea  instead  of  the  waves 
coming  broadside  on.  But  the  ship  is  so  big  that  very  few 
have  been  sea-sick.  My  friendship  with  the  commercial 
traveller  and  his  companions  grows  more  intimate.  They 
are  very  lively,  and  entertain  me  more  than  the  correct  and 
respectable  first-class  passengers.  .  .  .  The  most  interest- 
ing of  these  is  a  Canadian  bishop  with  his  secretary,  who 
has  been  to  Europe  to  receive  the  Pope's  blessing.  Yes- 
terday he  celebrated  mass  in  a  private  cabin,  and  I  chanced 
to  be  present.  While  I  am  writing,  the  ship  is  beginning 
to  pitch  more,  but  now  I  realise  it  must  be  so  in  mid- 
ocean,  and  I  am  getting  used  to  it." 

"April  tfh  (2\st\  1891. 

"In  the  night  the  ship  pitched  so  that  I  awoke,  and  had 
palpitations  and  almost  nervous  fever.  A  glass  of  brandy 
soon  picked  me  up  and  had  a  calming  effect.  I  put  on 
my  overcoat  and  went  on  deck.  It  was  a  glorious  moon- 
light night.  When  I  saw  that  everything  was  going  on  as 
usual,  I  realised  that  there  was  no  cause  for  fear.  .  .  .  By 
morning  the  wind  had  dropped.  We  were  in  the  Gulf 


632  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Stream.  This  was  evident,  because  suddenly  it  became 
much  warmer.  There  are  about  a  hundred  emigrants  on 
board,  mostly  Alsatians.  As  soon  as  the  weather  improves 
they  give  a  ball,  and  it  is  amusing  to  see  them  dancing  to 
the  strains  of  their  concertinas.  These  emigrants  do  not 
appear  at  all  unhappy.  The  unsympathetic  lady  who  sits 
near  me  at  table  is  the  wife  of  a  member  of  the  Boston 
orchestra.  Consequently  to-day  the  conversation  turned 
upon  music.  She  related  some  interesting  things  about 
the  Boston  concerts  and  musical  life  there. 

"  To-day  we  passed  a  few  sailing  vessels,  and  a  huge 
whale  which  sent  up  a  spout  of  water  into  the  air." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"April  loM  (?2nd\  1891. 

"  I  believed  I  was  quite  immune  from  sea-sickness.  It 
appears  that  I  am  not.  Last  night  the  weather  got  worse 
and  worse.  When  I  got  up  at  seven  a.m.  it  was  so  bad, 
and  the  sea  so  rough,  that  I  enjoyed  watching  it,  in  spite 
of  the  huge  ocean  waves.  It  continued  to  blow  until 
two  o'clock,  when  it  was  so  terrible  that  I  expected  every 
moment  the  ship  would  go  down.  Of  course  there  was 
really  no  question  whatever  of  our  sinking.  Not  only 
the  captain,  but  the  sailors  and  all  the  stewards  took  it  as 
a  matter  of  course.  But  to  me,  who  only  know  the  sea 
from  the  Mediterranean,  it  was  like  hell  let  loose.  Every- 
thing cracked  and  groaned.  One  minute  we  were  tossed 
up  to  the  clouds,  the  next  we  sank  into  the  depths.  It  was 
impossible  to  go  on  deck,  for  the  wind  almost  blew  one 
overboard — in  short,  it  was  terrible.  Most  of  the  pas- 
sengers were  ill,  but  some  enjoyed  it,  and  even  played  the 
piano,  arranged  card-parties,  etc.  I  had  no  appetite  for 
breakfast,  afterwards  I  felt  very  uncomfortable ',  and  at 
dinner  I  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  the  food.  I  have 
not  really  been  ill,  but  I  have  experienced  disagreeable 
sensations.  It  is  impossible  to  sleep.  Brandy  and  coffee 
are  the  only  nourishment  I  have  taken  to-day." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  633 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  April  i2th  (24^),  1891. 

"  The  night  was  horrible.  Towards  morning  the  weather 
improved,  and  remained  bearable  until  four  o'clock. 
Then  came  a  fresh  misery.  As  we  approached  the  '  sand 
banks  '  of  Newfoundland  we  passed  into  a  belt  of  dense 
fog  —  which  seems  the  usual  experience  here.  This  is  the 
thing  most  dreaded  at  sea,  because  a  collision,  even  with 
a  small  sailing  vessel,  may  sink  the  ship.  Our  speed 
was  considerably  slackened,  and  every  few  seconds  the 
siren  was  heard  ;  a  machine  which  emits  a  hideous  roar, 
like  a  gigantic  tiger.  It  gets  terribly  on  one's  nerves.  .  .  . 
Now  the  people  on  board  have  discovered  who  I  am,  and 
amiabilities,  compliments,  and  conversations  have  begun. 
I  can  never  walk  about  by  myself.  Besides,  they  press 
me  to  play.  I  refuse,  but  apparently  it  will  never  end 
until  I  have  played  something  on  the  wretched  piano.  .  .  . 
The  fog  is  lifting,  but  the  rolling  is  beginning  again." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"April  i2th  (z\th\  1891. 

"  I  absolutely  cannot  write.  Since  yesterday  evening 
I  have  been  a  martyr.  It  is  blowing  a  fearful  gale.  They 
say  it  was  predicted  by  the  Meteorological  Observatory. 
It  is  horrible!  Especially  to  me,  a  novice.  They  say  it 
will  last  till  we  get  to  New  York.  I  suffer  as  much 
mentally  as  physically  ;  simply  from  fright  and  anxiety." 


«  April  i$th  (2$tK),  1891. 

"  After  writing  the  above  lines  I  went  into  the  smoking- 
room.  Very  few  passengers  were  there,  and  they  sat  idle, 
with  gloomy,  anxious  faces.  .  .  .  The  gale  continually  in- 
creased. There  was  no  thought  of  lying  down.  I  sat  in 
a  corner  of  the  sofa  in  my  cabin  and  tried  not  to  think 
about  what  was  going  on  ;  but  that  was  impossible,  for  the 
straining,  creaking,  and  shivering  of  the  vessel,  and  the 
howling  of  the  wind  outside,  could  not  be  silenced.  So  I 
sat  on,  and  what  passed  through  my  mind  I  cannot 
describe  to  you.  Unpleasant  reflections.  Presently  I 


634  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

noticed  that  the  horrible  shocks  each  time  the  screw  was 
lifted  out  of  the  water  came  at  longer  intervals,  the  wind 
howled  less.  Then  I  fell  asleep,  still  sitting  propped 
between  my  trunk  and  the  wall  of  the  cabin.  ...  In  the 
morning  I  found  we  had  passed  through  the  very  centre  of 
an  unusually  severe  storm,  such  as  is  rarely  experienced. 
At  two  o'clock  we  met  the  pilot  who  had  long  been  ex- 
pected. The  whole  bevy  of  passengers  turned  out  to  see 
him  waiting  for  us  in  his  tiny  boat.  The  ship  hove  to,  and 
we  took  him  on  board.  There  are  only  about  twenty-four 
hours  left.  In  consequence  of  the  gale  we  are  a  few  hours 
late.  I  am  very  glad  the  voyage  is  nearing  its  end  :  I 
simply  could  not  bear  to  remain  any  longer  on  board  ship. 
I  have  decided  to  return  from  New  York  by  a  German 
liner  on  April  3Oth  (May  I2th).  By  May  loth  (22nd),  or 
a  little  later,  I  shall  be  in  Petersburg  again,  D.V." 


XII 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"NEW  YORK,  April  \$th  (27^),  1891. 

"The  remainder  of  the  journey  was  happily  accom- 
plished. The  nearer  we  came  to  New  York,  the  greater 
grew  my  fear  and  home-sickness,  and  I  regretted  ever 
having  undertaken  this  insane  voyage.  When  all  is  over 
I  may  look  back  to  it  with  pleasure,  but  at  present  it  is 
not  without  suffering.  Before  we  reached  New  York — 
endless  formalities  with  passports  and  Customs.  A  whole 
day  was  spent  in  answering  inquiries.  At  last  we  landed 
at  5  p.m.  I  was  met  by  four  very  amiable  gentlemen  and 
a  lady,  who  took  me  straight  to  the  Hotel  Normandie. 
Here  I  explained  to  Mr.  Morris  Reno1  that  I  should 
leave  on  the  I2th.  He  said  that  would  not  be  feasible, 
because  an  extra  concert  had  been  fixed  for  the  i8th,  of 
which  Wolf  had  not  said  a  word  to  me.  After  all  these 
people  had  gone,  I  began  to  walk  up  and  down  my 

1  President  of  the  Music  Hall  Company  of  New  York,  upon  whose 
initiative  Tchaikovsky  had  been  engaged  in  America. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  635 

rooms  (I  have  two)  and  shed  many  tears.  I  declined 
their  invitations  to  dinner  and  supper,  and  begged  to  be 
left  to  myself  for  to-night. 

"  After  a  bath,  I  dressed,  dined  against  my  inclination, 
and  went  for  a  stroll  down  Broadway.  An  extraordinary 
street !  Houses  of  one  and  two  stories  alternate  with 
some  nine-storied  buildings.  Most  original.  I  was  struck 
with  the  number  of  nigger  faces  I  saw;  When  I  got  back 
I  began  crying  again,  and  slept  like  the  dead,  as  I  always 
do  after  tears.  I  awoke  refreshed,  but  the  tears  are  always 
in  my  eyes." 

Diary. 

" Monday,  April  \$th  (27^). 

"  Mayer 1  was  my  first  visitor.  The  cordial  friendli- 
ness of  this  pleasant  German  astonished  and  touched 
me.  For,  being  the  head  of  a  pianoforte  firm,  he  had  no 
interest  in  paying  attentions  to  a  musician  who  is  not 
a  pianist.  Then  a  reporter  appeared,  and  I  was  very 
thankful  for  Mayer's  presence.  Many  of  his  questions 
were  very  curious.  Reno  next  arrived,  bringing  an 
interesting  friend  with  him.  Reno  told  me  I  was  ex- 
pected at  the  rehearsal.  After  we  had  got  rid  of  the 
interviewer  we  went  on  foot  to  the  music  hall.2  A  mag- 
nificent building.  We  got  to  the  rehearsal  just  at  the  end 
of  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony.  Damrosch3  (who  was 
conducting  without  his  coat)  appeared  very  pleasant.  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  him  at  the  finish  of  the  Symphony, 
but  had  to  wait  and  answer  the  cordial  greetings  of 
the  orchestra.  Damrosch  made  a  little  speech.  More 
ovations.  I  could  only  rehearse  the  first  and  third  move- 
ments of  the  First  Suite.  The  orchestra  is  excellent. 
After  the  rehearsal  I  breakfasted  with  Mayer,  who  then 
took  me  up  Broadway,  helped  me  to  buy  a  hat,  presented 
me  with  a  hundred  cigarettes,  showed  me  the  very 

1  The  head  of  the  Knabe  Pianoforte  Manufactory. 

2  This  hall  was  built  principally  with  the  help  of  Mr.  Carnegie.     Tchai- 
kovsky was  invited  to  the  opening  festivities. 

8  Walter  Damrosch,  son  of  the  founder  of  the  *'  Symphony  Society"  in 
New  York,  one  of  the  directors  of  the  Music  Hall  Company  of  New  York, 
and  conductor  of  the  Symphony  Concerts  and  of  the  opera. 


636  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

interesting  Hoffman  Bar,  which  is  decorated  with  the 
most  beautiful  pictures,  statues  and  tapestries,  and  finally 
brought  me  home.  I  lay  down  to  rest,  completely  ex- 
hausted. Later  on  I  dressed,  for  I  was  expecting  Reno, 
who  soon  turned  up.  I  tried  to  persuade  him  to  let 
me  give  up  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore,  but  he  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  grant  my  request.  He  took  me  to  his 
house  and  introduced  me  to  his  wife  and  daughters,  who 
are  very  nice.  Afterwards  he  went  with  me  to  Damrosch's. 
A  year  ago  Damrosch  married  the  daughter  of  a  very  rich 
and  distinguished  man.  They  are  a  very  agreeable  couple. 
We  sat  down  three  to  dinner.  Then  Damrosch  took  me 
to  visit  Carnegie,1  the  possessor  of  30,000,000  dollars,  who 
is  very  like  our  dramatist  Ostrovsky.  I  was  very  much 
taken  with  the  old  man,  especially  as  he  is  an  admirer  of 
Moscow,  which  he  visited  two  years  ago.  Next  to 
Moscow,  he  admires  the  national  songs  of  Scotland,  a 
great  many  of  which  Damrosch  played  to  him  on  a  mag- 
nificent Steinway  grand.  He  has  a  young  and  pretty 
wife.  After  these  visits  I  went  with  Hyde2  and  Damrcsch 
to  see  the  Athletic  Club  and  another,  more  serious  in 
tone,  which  I  might  perhaps  compare  with  our  English 
Club.  The  Athletic  Club  astonished  me,  especially  the 
swimming  bath,  in  which  the  members  bathe,  and  the 
upper  gallery,  where  they  skate  in  winter.  We  ordered 
drinks  in  the  serious  club.  I  reached  home  about  eleven 
o'clock.  Needless  to  say,  I  was  worn  out. 


"April  1 

"  Slept  very  well.  A  messenger  came  from  *  *  *  * 
to  know  if  I  wanted  anything.  These  Americans  strike 
me  as  very  remarkable,  especially  after  the  impression  the 
Parisians  left  upon  me  :  there  politeness  or  amiability  to  a 
stranger  always  savoured  of  self-interest  ;  whereas  in  this 
country  the  honesty,  sincerity,  generosity,  cordiality,  and 
readiness  to  help  you  without  any  arriere-pensee,  is 

1  A.  Carnegie,  the  greatest  ironmaster  in  America,  perhaps  in  the  world  ; 
orator,  author,  politician  ;  a  most  generous  benefactor  and  founder  of  many 
schools,  libraries  and  museums. 

2  Francis  Hyde,  Director  of  the  Trust  Company,  and  President  of  the  New 
York  Philharmonic  Society. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  637 

very  pleasant.  I  like  this,  and  most  of  the  American 
ways  and  customs,  yet  I  enjoy  it  all  in  the  same  spirit  as 
a  man  who  sits  at  a  table  laden  with  good  things  and  has 
no  appetite.  My  appetite  will  only  come  with  the  near 
prospect  of  my  return  to  Russia. 

"  At  eleven  a.m.  I  went  for  a  walk,  and  breakfasted  in 
a  very  pretty  restaurant.  Home  again  by  one  o'clock 
and  reflected  a  little.  Reinhard,1  an  agreeable  young  man, 
came  to  take  me  to  Mayer's.  On  the  way  we  turned  into 
the  Hoffman  Bar.  Saw  Knabe's  warehouse.  Mayer  took 
me  to  a  photographic  studio.  We  went  up  by  the  lift 
to  the  ninth  or  tenth  floor,  where  a  little  old  man  (the 
owner  of  the  studio)  received  us  in  a  red  nightcap.  I 
never  came  across  such  a  droll  fellow.  He  is  a  parody  of 
Napoleon  III.  (very  like  the  original,  but  a  caricature 
of  him).  He  turned  me  round  and  round  while  he  looked 
for  the  best  side  of  my  face.  Then  he  developed  rather  a 
tedious  theory  of  the  best  side  of  the  face  and  proceeded  to 
experiment  on  Mayer.  Finally  I  was  photographed  in  every 
conceivable  position,  during  which  the  old  man  enter- 
tained me  with  all  kinds  of  mechanical  toys.  But,  with  all 
his  peculiarities,  he  was  pleasant  and  cordial  in  the  Ameri- 
can way.  From  the  photographer  I  drove  with  Mayer  to 
the  park,  which  is  newly  laid  out,  but  very  beautiful. 
There  was  a  crowd  of  smart  ladies  and  carriages.  We 
called  for  Mayer's  wife  and  daughter  and  continued  our 
drive  along  the  high  bank  of  the  Hudson.  It  became 
gradually  colder,  and  the  conversation  with  these  good 
German-Americans  wearied  me.  At  last  we  stopped  at 
the  celebrated  Restaurant  Delmonico,  and  Mayer  invited 
me  to  a  most  luxurious  dinner,  after  which  he  and  the 
ladies  took  me  back  to  my  hotel.  I  hurried  into  my  dress- 
coat  and  waited  for  Mr.  Hyde.  Then,  together  with  him 
and  his  wife,  Damrosch,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reno,  we  all 
went  to  a  somewhat  tedious  concert  at  the  great  Opera 
House.  We  heard  an  oratorio,  The  Captivity,  by  the  Ameri- 
can composer  Max  Wagrich.  Most  wearisome.  After  this 
I  wanted  to  go  home,  but  the  dear  Hydes  carried  me 
off  to  supper  at  Delmonico's.  We  ate  oysters  with  a  sauce 
of  small  turtles  (!  !  !),  and  cheese.  Champagne,  and  an 

1  A  representative  from  the  firm  of  Knabe. 


638  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

iced  peppermint  drink,  supported  my  failing  courage. 
They  brought  me  home  at  twelve  o'clock.  A  telegram 
from  Botkin  summoning  me  to  Washington. 

"April  \>\th  (29^). 

"  Passed  a  restless  night.  After  my  early  tea  I  wrote 
letters.  Then  I  sauntered  through  Fifth  Avenue.  What 
palaces !  Breakfasted  alone  at  home.  Went  to  Mayer's. 
The  kindness  and  attentiveness  of  this  man  are  simply 
wonderful.  According  to  Paris  custom,  I  try  to  discover 
what  he  wants  to  get  out  of  me.  But  I  can  think  of 
nothing,  Early  this  morning  he  sent  Reinhard  to  me 
again,  in  case  I  wanted  anything,  and  I  was  very  glad 
of  his  help,  for  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  about  the  tele- 
gram from  Washington.  By  three  o'clock  I  was  at  home, 
waiting  for  William  de  Sachs,  a  very  amiable  and  elegant 
gentleman,  who  loves  music  and  writes  about  it.  He  was 
still  here  when  my  French  friends  from  the  steamer 
arrived.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  them  and  we  went  out 
together  to  have  some  absinthe.  When  I  got  back  I  rested 
for  a  while.  At  seven  o'clock  Hyde  and  his  wife  called 
for  me.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  words  and  colours  fail  me 
to  describe  this  most  original  couple,  who  are  so  extremely 
kind  and  friendly !  The  language  in  which  we  carry  on 
our  conversation  is  very  amusing ;  it  consists  of  the 
queerest  mixture  of  English,  French  and  German.  Every 
word  which  Hyde  utters  in  our  conversation  is  the  result 
of  an  extraordinary  intellectual  effort :  literally  a  whole 
minute  passes  before  there  emerges,  from  an  indefinite 
murmur,  some  word  so  weird-sounding  that  it  is  impossible 
to  tell  to  which  of  the  three  languages  it  belongs.  All  the 
time  Hyde  and  his  wife  have  such  a  serious,  yet  good- 
natured  air.  I  accompanied  them  to  Reno's,  who  was 
giving  a  big  dinner  in  my  honour.  The  ladies — all  in  full 
evening  dress.  The  table  decorated  with  flowers.  At 
each  lady's  place  lay  a  bunch  of  flowers,  while  the  men 
had  lilies-of-the-valley,  which  we  put  in  our  buttonholes  as 
soon  as  we  were  seated  at  table.  Each  lady  had  also 
a  little  picture  of  myself  in  a  pretty  frame.  The  dinner 
began  at  half-past  seven,  and  was  over  at  eleven.  I  am 
not  exaggerating  when  I  say  this,  for  it  is  the  custom  here. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  639 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  all  the  courses.  In  the  middle 
of  the  dinner  ices  were  served  in  little  cases,  to  which  were 
attached  small  slates  with  pencils  and  sponges,  on  which 
fragments  from  my  works  were  beautifully  inscribed.  I 
had  to  write  my  autograph  on  these  slates.  The  conver- 
sation was  very  lively.  I  sat  between  Mrs.  Reno  and 
Mrs.  Damrosch.  The  latter  is  a  most  charming  and  grace- 
ful woman.  Opposite  to  me  sat  Carnegie,  the  admirer 
of  Moscow,  and  the  possessor  of  forty  million  dollars. 
His  likeness  to  Ostrovsky  is  astonishing.  Tormented  by 
the  want  of  a  smoke,  and  almost  ill  with  over-eating,  I 
determined  about  eleven  o'clock  to  ask  Mrs.  Reno's 
permission  to  leave  the  table.  Half  an  hour  later  we 
all  took  our  leave." 

To  V.  Davidov. 

"NEW  YORK,  April  \%th  (30/7*),  1891. 

"  Have  just  received  my  letters.  It  is  impossible  to 
say  how  precious  these  are  under  the  present  circum- 
stances. I  was  unspeakably  glad.  I  make  copious  entries 
every  day  in  my  diary  and,  on  my  return,  you  shall  each 
have  it  to  read  in  turn,  so  I  will  not  go  into  details  now. 
New  York,  American  customs,  American  hospitality — all 
their  comforts  and  arrangements — everything,  in  fact,  is 
to  my  taste.  If  only  I  were  younger  I  should  very  much 
enjoy  my  visit  to  this  interesting  and  youthful  country. 
But  now,  I  just  tolerate  everything  as  if  it  were  a  slight 
punishment  mitigated  by  many  pleasant  things.  All  my 
thoughts,  all  my  aspirations,  tend  towards  Home,  Home!!! 
I  am  convinced  that  I  am  ten  times  more  famous  in 
America  than  in  Europe.  At  first,  when  others  spoke 
about  it  to  me,  I  thought  it  was  only  their  exaggerated 
amiability.  But  now  I  see  that  it  really  is  so.  Several  of 
my  works,  which  are  unknown  even  in  Moscow,  are 
frequently  played  here.  I  am  a  much  more  important 
person  here  than  in  Russia.  Is  not  that  curious  ?  " 

"  April  rtth  (^tK). 

"  It  is  becoming  more  and  more  difficult  to  find  time 
for  writing.  Breakfasted  with  my  French  friends.  Inter- 


640  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

view  with  de  Sachs.  We  went  to  see  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge.  From  there  we  went  on  to  see  Schirmer,  who 
owns  the  largest  music  business  in  America ;  the  ware- 
house— especially  the  metallography — resembles  Jurgen- 
son's  in  many  respects.  Schirmer  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  publish  some  of  my  compositions.  On  reaching  home, 
I  received  the  journalist,  Ivy  Ross,  who  asked  me  for  a 
contribution  for  her  paper.  When  she  had  gone,  I  sank 
on  the  sofa  like  a  log  and  enjoyed  a  little  rest  and  solitude. 
By  8.30  I  was  already  at  the  Music  Hall  for  the  first 
rehearsal.  The  chorus  greeted  me  with  an  ovation. 
They  sang  beautifully.  As  I  was  about  to  leave,  I  met 
the  builder  of  the  hall  in  the  doorway ;  he  presented  to 
me  a  pleasant,  rather  stout,  man,  his  chief  assistant, 
whose  talent  and  cleverness  he  could  not  sufficiently 
praise.  This  man  was — as  it  turned  out — a  pure-blooded 
Russian,  who  had  become  a  naturalised  American.  The 
architect  told  me  he  was  an  anarchist  and  socialist.  I  had 
a  little  conversation  with  my  fellow-countryman,  and 
promised  to  visit  him.  After  a  light  supper  I  took  a 
walk.  Read  over  and  over  again  the  letters  I  had  received 
and,  naturally,  shed  a  few  tears. 

"April  I9//&  (May  ist). 

"  Awoke  late  and  sat  down  to  write  a  little  article  for 
Miss  Ross.  Reno  appeared,  with  the  news  that  he  had 
engaged  a  cabin  for  me  on  board  the  Filrst  Bismarck, 
which  sails  on  May  2nd  (i4th).  Oh  God,  what  a  long 
way  off  it  still  seems !  I  called  for  my  good  friend  Mayer 
and  breakfasted  with  him  in  an  excellent  little  Italian 
restaurant,  after  which  we  went  down  town.  Here  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  what  life  means  at  certain  hours  on 
Broadway.  So  far  I  had  only  been  able  to  judge  this  street 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  hotel,  where  there  is  little 
traffic.  But  this  is  only  a  very  small  portion  of  this  street, 
which  is  seven  versts  (over  four  miles)  long.  The  houses 
down  town  are  simply  colossal ;  I  cannot  understand  how 
anyone  can  live  on  the  thirteenth  floor.  Mayer  and  I 
went  out  on  the  roof  of  one  such  house.  The  view  was 
splendid,  but  I  felt  quite  giddy  when  I  looked  down  into 
Broadway.  Then  Mayer  obtained  permission  for  me  to 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  641 

visit  the  cellars  of  the  mint,  where  hundreds  of  millions  of 
gold  and  silver  coins,  as  well  as  paper  money,  are  kept. 
Very  good-natured,  but  fussy  and  important,  officials  con- 
ducted us  round  these  cellars,  and  opened  monumental 
doors  with  mysterious  keys  and  no  less  mysterious  press- 
ings of  various  springs  and  knobs.  The  sacks  of  gold, 
which  look  just  like  sacks  of  corn  in  a  granary,  are  kept 
in  clean,  tidy  rooms  lit  by  electric  light.  I  was  allowed 
to  hold  in  my  hand  a  packet  of  new  shining  coins  worth 
about  10,000,000  dollars.1  Then  I  understood  why  so 
little  gold  and  silver  are  in  circulation.  The  Americans 
prefer  dirty,  unpleasant  paper  notes  to  metal,  because  they 
find  them  so  much  more  practical  and  useful.  Therefore, 
these  paper  notes — quite  the  reverse  to  our  country — 
thanks  to  the  vast  amount  of  metals  kept  in  the  mint,  are 
valued  far  more  than  gold  and  silver.  From  the  mint  we 
visited  the  scene  of  activity  of  good  Mr.  Hyde.  He  is 
a  director  of  one  of  the  banks,  and  took  me  round  his 
strong-rooms,  in  which  mountains  of  paper  money  are 
stored  away.  We  also  visited  the  Exchange,  which 
struck  me  as  quieter  than  the  Paris  Bourse.  Hyde 
treated  us  to  lemonade  at  a  cafe.  On  my  return  home  I 
had  to  finish  my  newspaper  article  on  Wagner  for  Miss 
Ross,  and  at  five  o'clock  I  was  ready  to  visit  William  de 
Sachs.  He  lives  in  a  very  large  house,  where  rooms  are 
let  to  bachelors  only.  Ladies  are  only  admitted  as  guests 
into  this  curious  American  monastery.  I  found  a  small 
gathering,  which  gradually  grew  larger.  It  was  "five 
o'clock  tea."  The  pianist,  Miss  Wilson  (who  called  on  me 
yesterday,  and  is  a  staunch  adherent  of  Russian  music), 
played  Borodin's  beautiful  Serenade.  After  refusing 
several  invitations  I  spent  the  evening  alone.  How 
pleasant  it  was !  Dined  in  the  Restaurant  Hoffmann,  as 
usual,  without  any  enjoyment.  During  my  walk  further 
along  Broadway  I  came  upon  a  meeting  of  Socialists  in 
red  caps.  Next  morning  I  learnt  from  the  newspapers 
that  about  five  thousand  men  had  assembled,  carrying 
banners  and  huge  lanterns,  on  which  were  inscribed  these 
words  :  '  Comrades  !  We  are  slaves  in  free  America.  We 

1  This  would  have  been  an  impossible  athletic  feat,  probably  the  equivalent 
in  notes  is  intended. — R.  N. 

2   T 


642  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

will  no  longer  work  more  than  eight  hours  ! '  The  whole 
demonstration  seemed  to  me  a  farce  ;  I  think  the  inhabit- 
ants also  look  on  it  as  such,  for  very  few  people  had  the 
curiosity  to  stand  and  watch ;  the  others  walked  about  as 
usual.  I  went  to  bed  bodily  tired,  but  mentally  refreshed. 

"  April  zoth  (May  2nd}. 

"By  10.30  a.m.  I  was  at  the  rehearsal  in  the  Music  Hall. 
It  was  held  in  the  large  hall,  where  several  workmen  were 
hammering,  shouting,  and  running  hither  and  thither. 
The  orchestra  is  placed  across  the  whole  breadth  of  the 
huge  platform  ;  consequently  the  sound  is  bad  and  unequal, 
This  got  on  my  nerves  until,  in  my  rage,  I  was  several 
times  on  the  point  of  making  a  scene,  leaving  every- 
thing in  the  lurch  and  running  away.  I  played  through 
the  Suite  and  the  March  very  carelessly,  and  stopped  the 
Pianoforte  Concerto  at  the  first  movement,  as  the  parts  were 
in  confusion  and  the  musicians  exhausted.  The  pianist, 
Adele  Aus-der-Ohe,  came  at  five  o'clock  and  played  over 
the  Concerto,  which  had  gone  so  badly  at  rehearsal. 

"  April  21  st  (May  $rd). 

"  Telegram  from  Jurgenson  :  '  Christos  vosskresse.' x 
Rain  outside.  Letters  from  Modi  and  Jurgenson.  *  Nur 
wer  die  Sehnsucht  kennt' — realises  what  it  means  to  re- 
ceive letters  in  a  strange  country.  I  have  never  before 
experienced  similar  sensations.  Mr.  N.  and  his  wife  came 
to  call  upon  me.  He — a  tall,  bearded  man,  with  iron-grey 
hair,  very  elegantly  dressed,  always  bewailing  his  spinal 
complaint,  speaking  very  good  Russian  and  abusing  the 
Jews  (although  he  himself  looks  very  like  one) ;  she — a 
very  plain  Englishwoman  (not  American),  who  can  speak 
nothing  but  English.  She  brought  a  great  pile  of  news- 
papers with  her,  and  showed  me  her  articles.  I  cannot 
make  out  what  these  people  want.  He  asked  me  if  I  had 
composed  a  fantasia  on  the  Red  Sarafan.  On  my  reply- 
ing in  the  negative,  he  was  very  much  astonished,  and 
added:  'I  will  send  you  Thalberg's  fantasia;  pray  copy  his 
style.'  I  had  great  trouble  in  politely  getting  rid  of  this 

1  "  Christ  is  risen  " — a  Russian  Easter  greeting. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  643 

curious  couple.  De  Sachs  came  to  fetch  me  at  twelve 
o'clock.  We  walked  into  the  park.  Then  we  went  up 
by  the  lift  to  the  fourth  floor  of  an  immense  house  where 
Schirmer  lives.  Besides  myself  and  Sachs,  there  were  at 
table  the  conductor  Seidl,  a  Wagnerian  and  well  known 
in  this  country,  his  wife,  the  pianist  Adele  Aus-der-Ohe, 
who  is  going  to  play  at  my  concert,  her  sister,  and  the 
Schirmer  family.  Seidl  told  me  that  my  Maid  of  Orleans 
would  be  produced  next  season.  I  had  to  be  at  rehearsal 
by  four  o'clock.  De  Sachs  accompanied  me  to  the  Music 
Hall  in  the  Schirmers''  carriage.  It  was  lit  up  and  in 
order  for  the  first  time  to-day.  I  sat  in  Carnegie's  box, 
while  an  oratorio,  The  Shulamite,  by  the  elder  Damrosch, 
was  being  rehearsed.  Before  my  turn  came  they  sang  a 
wearisome  cantata  by  Schiitz,  The  Seven  Words.  My 
choruses1  went  very  well.  After  it  was  over,  I  accom- 
panied Sachs  very  unwillingly  to  the  Schirmers',  as  he  had 
made  me  promise  to  come  back.  We  found  a  number  of 
people  there  who  had  come  merely  to  see  me.  Schirmer 
took  us  on  the  roof  of  his  house.  This  huge,  nine- storied 
house  has  a  roof  so  arranged  that  one  can  take  quite  a 
delightful  walk  on  it  and  enjoy  a  splendid  view  from  all 
sides.  The  sunset  was  indescribably  beautiful.  When  we 
went  downstairs  we  found  only  a  few  intimate  friends  left, 
with  whom  I  enjoyed  myself  most  unexpectedly.  Aus- 
der-Ohe  played  beautifully.  Among  other  things,  we 
played  my  Concerto  together.  We  sat  down  to  supper  at 
nine  o'clock.  About  10.30  we,  that  is,  Sachs,  Aus-der- 
Ohe,  her  sister,  and  myself,  were  presented  with  the  most 
splendid  roses,  conveyed  downstairs  in  the  lift  and  sent 
home  in  the  Schirmers'  carriage.  One  must  do  justice  to 
American  hospitality  ;  there  is  nothing  like  it — except, 
perhaps,  in  our  own  country. 

"  April  22nd  (May  4//fc). 

"  Received  letters.  A  visit  from  Mr.  Romeike,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  bureau  for  newspaper  cuttings.  Apparently, 
he,  too,  is  one  of  our  Anarchists,  like  those  mysterious 
Russians  who  spoke  to  me  yesterday  at  the  rehearsal. 
Wrote  letters  and  my  diary.  Called  for  Mayer,  and  went 

1  "  Legend  "  and  "  Our  Father." 


644  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

with  him  to  see  Hyde,  who  invited  us  to  breakfast  at  the 
Down  Town  Club.  After  a  most  excellent  breakfast  I 
walked  down  Broadway,  alas — still  with  Mayer.  Then  we 
went  to  the  concert  given  by  the  celebrated  English 
singer  Santley.  The  celebrated  singer  turned  out  to  be  an 
elderly  man,  who  sang  arias  and  songs  in  a  fairly  rhythmic 
manner,  but  without  any  tone,  and  with  truly  English 
stiffness.  I  was  greeted  by  several  critics,  among  them 
Finck,  who  had  written  to  me  last  winter  so  enthusiasti- 
cally about  Hamlet.  I  went  home  without  waiting  for  the 
end  of  the  concert,  as  I  had  to  go  through  my  Pianoforte 
Concerto  with  Adele  Aus-der-Ohe.  She  came  with  her 
sister,  and  I  showed  her  various  little  nuances  and  delicate 
details,  which — after  yesterday's  rehearsal — I  considered 
necessary,  in  view  of  her  powerful,  clean,  brilliant,  but 
somewhat  rough,  style  of  playing.  Reno  had  told  me 
some  interesting  facts  about  Aus-der-Ohe's  American 
career.  Four  years  ago  she  obtained  an  engagement  at 
one  of  the  Symphony  Concerts  to  play  a  Concerto  by 
Liszt  (she  was  one  of  his  pupils),  and  came  over  without  a 
penny  in  her  pocket.  Her  playing  took  with  the  public. 
She  was  engaged  everywhere,  and  was  a  complete  success. 
During  these  four  years  she  has  toured  all  over  America, 
and  now  possesses  a  capital  of  over  £20,000 ! ! !  Such  is 
America !  After  they  had  left,  I  hurried  into  my  evening 
clothes  and  went  to  dinner  at  the  Renos'.  This  time  it 
was  quite  a  small  family  party.  Damrosch  came  in  after 
dinner.  I  played  duets  with  charming  Alice  Reno.  The 
evening  passed  very  pleasantly.  Reno  saw  me  to  the 
tramway.  It  has  suddenly  turned  very  cold. 

« April  *yd  (May  $th\ 

"  The  waiter  Max,  who  brings  me  my  tea  in  the  morn- 
ing, spent  all  his  childhood  in  Nijni-Novogorod  and  went 
to  school  there.  Since  his  fifteenth  year  he  has  lived  partly 
in  Germany,  partly  in  New  York.  He  is  now  twenty - 
three,  and  has  so  completely  forgotten  his  native  tongue 
that  he  can  only  mangle  it,  although  he  still  remembers 
the  most  common  words.  I  find  it  very  pleasant  to  talk 
a  little  Russian  with  him.  At  eleven  a.m.  the  pianist 
Rummel  (an  old  acquaintance  from  Berlin)  came  to  ask 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  645 

me  again  if  I  would  conduct  his  concert  on  the  i/th ;  he 
has  been  once  before.  Next  came  a  very  pleasant  and 
friendly  journalist,  who  asked  how  my  wife  liked  New 
York.  I  have  been  asked  this  question  before.  One  day, 
shortly  after  my  arrival,  it  was  announced  in  some  of  the 
newspapers  that  I  had  arrived  with  a  young  and  pretty 
wife.  This  arose  from  the  fact  that  two  reporters  on  the 
pier  had  seen  me  get  into  a  carriage  with  Alice  Reno. 
At  7.30  Reno's  brother-in-law  came.  We  drove  to  the 
Music  Hall  in  a  carriage,  filled  to  overflowing.  The  appear- 
ance of  the  hall  in  the  evening,  lit  up  and  crowded  with 
people,  was  very  fine  and  effective.  The  ceremony  began 
with  a  speech  by  Reno  (this  had  caused  the  poor  fellow 
much  perturbation  all  the  day  before).  After  this  the 
National  Anthem  was  sung.  Then  a  clergyman  made 
a  very  long  and  wearisome  speech,  in  which  he  eulogised 
the  founders  of  the  Hall,  especially  Carnegie.  The  Leonore 
Symphony  was  then  beautifully  rendered.  Interval.  I 
went  downstairs.  Great  excitement.  I  appeared,  and  was 
greeted  with  loud  applause.  The  March  went  splendidly. 
Great  success.  I  sat  in  Hyde's  box  for  the  rest  of  the 
concert.  Berlioz's  Te  Deum  is  somewhat  wearisome;  only 
towards  the  end  I  began  to  enjoy  it  thoroughly.  Reno 
carried  me  off  with  him.  An  improvised  supper.  Slept 
like  a  log. 

"April  2tfh  (May  6th),  1891. 

"'Tchaikovsky  is  a  man  of  ample  proportions,  with 
rather  grey  hair,  well  built,  of  a  pleasing  appearance,  and 
about  sixty  years  of  age  (! ! !).  He  seemed  rather  nervous, 
and  answered  the  applause  with  a  number  of  stiff  little 
bows.  But  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  up  the  baton  he  was  quite 
master  of  himself/  I  read  this  to-day  in  the  Herald}-  It 
annoys  me  that,  not  content  with  writing  about  my  music, 
they  must  also  write  about  my  personal  appearance.  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  that  my  shyness  is  noticeable,  or  that 
my  'stiff  little  bows'  fill  them  with  astonishment.  I  went 
to  rehearsal  at  10.30.  I  had  to  get  a  workman  to  show  me 
the  entrance  to  the  Hall.  The  rehearsal  went  very  well. 
After  the  Suite  the  musicians  called  out  something  which 

1   The  New  York  Herald,  6th  May,  1891. 


646  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

sounded  like  '  hoch.'  Simply  bathed  in  perspiration,  I  had 
to  go  and  talk  to  Mme.  Reno,  her  eldest  daughter  and 
two  other  ladies.  Went  to  see  Reno.  The  steamboat 
ticket.  Instructions  for  the  journey  to  Philadephia  and 
Boston.  Then  I  hurried  over  to  Mayer's,  where  Rummel 
had  already  been  waiting  half  an  hour  to  play  me  the 
Second  Concerto.  But  we  did  not  play  it.  I  practised 
my  powers  of  eloquence  instead.  I  tried  to  prove  to  him 
that  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should  accede  to  his 
proposal — to  conduct  his  concert  gratuitously  on  the 
1 7th.  Breakfasted  with  Mayer  at  the  Italian  Restaurant. 
P.  Botkin1  from  Washington  turned  up  quite  unexpectedly 
about  seven  o'clock.  He  has  come  on  purpose  to  be  at 
the  concert.  Hyde  and  his  wife  fetched  me  about  7.30. 
The  second  concert.  Mendelssohn's  oratorio,  Elijah,  was 
given.  A  splendid  work,  but  rather  too  long.  During  the 
interval,  I  was  dragged  the  round  of  the  boxes  of  various 
local  magnates. 

"April  2$th  (May  >jth). 

"  I  am  fifty-one  to-day.  I  feel  very  excited.  The  con- 
cert begins  at  two  o'clock,  with  the  Suite.  This  curious 
fright  I  suffer  from  is  very  strange.  How  many  times 
have  I  already  conducted  the  Suite,  and  it  goes  splendidly. 
Why  this  anxiety?  I  suffer  horribly,  and  it  gets  worse 
and  worse.  I  never  remember  feeling  so  anxious  before. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  over  here  they  pay  so  much  attention 
to  my  outward  appearance,  and  consequently  my  shyness 
is  more  noticeable.  However  that  may  be,  after  getting 
over  some  painful  hours  (the  last  was  worst  of  all,  for 
before  my  appearance  I  had  to  speak  to  several  strangers) 
I  stepped  into  the  conductor's  desk,  was  received  most  en- 
thusiastically, and  made  a  sensation — according  to  to-day's 
papers.  After  the  Suite  I  sat  in  Reno's  private  room, 
and  was  interviewed  by  several  reporters.  (Oh,  these 
reporters!)  Among  others,  the  well-known  journalist, 
Jackson.  I  paid  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Reno  in  her  box ; 
she  had  sent  me  a  quantity  of  flowers  in  the  morning, 
almost  as  if  she  had  guessed  it  was  my  birthday.  I  felt 

1  Son  of  the  celebrated  scientist,  S.  Botkin,  and  Secretary  to  the  Russian 
Embassy  in  Washington. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  647 

I  must  be  alone,  so  refused  Reno's  invitation,  pushed 
my  way  through  a  crowd  of  ladies,  who  were  standing  in 
the  corridor  to  stare  at  me,  and  in  whose  eyes  I  read  with 
involuntary  pleasure  signs  of  enthusiastic  sympathy — and 
hastened  home.  I  wrote  Botkin  a  card,  telling  him  that 
I  could  not  keep  my  promise  to  dine  with  him.  Relieved 
and — in  a  measure — happy,  I  went  out  to  stroll  about,  to 
eat  my  dinner,  and  lounge  in  a  cafe,  to  enjoy  silence  and 
solitude. 

"April  26th  (May  8M). 

"  I  can  scarcely  find  time  to  keep  up  my  diary  and  cor- 
respondence. 1  am  simply  overrun  with  visitors — re- 
porters, composers,  and  librettists.  Among  the  latter  was 
one  who  brought  me  the  text  of  an  opera,  Vlasta,  and 
touched  me  very  deeply  by  the  account  of  the  death  of  his 
only  son.  Moreover,  from  every  part  of  America  I  receive 
a  heap  of  letters  asking  for  my  autograph  ;  these  I  answer 
most  conscientiously.  Went  to  the  rehearsal  of  the 
Pianoforte  Concerto.  Damrosch  annoyed  me  very  much 
by  taking  up  the  best  of  the  time  for  himself  and  leaving 
the  rest  of  the  rehearsal  to  me.  However,  all  went  well. 
Went  to  Knabe's  to  thank  him  for  the  beautiful  present  (a 
statue  of  Freedom)  which  he  sent  me  yesterday.  Shall  I 
be  allowed  to  take  it  into  Russia  ?  Then  I  hastened  home. 
Visitors  without  end,  among  others  two  Russian  ladies. 
One  of  them  was  Mrs.  MacMahan,  widow  of  the  cele- 
brated war  correspondent  of  1877,  and  herself  the  corre- 
spondent of  the  Russky  Viedomosti  and  the  Seventy 
Vestnik.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
talking  to  a  Russian  lady ;  consequently  I  made  a  fool  of 
myself.  Suddenly  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes,  my  voice 
broke,  and  I  could  not  suppress  my  sobs.  I  fled  into  the 
next  room,  and  could  not  show  myself  again  for  a  long 
time.  I  blush  with  shame  to  think  of  this  unexpected 
episode.  .  .  .  Rested  a  little  before  the  concert.  The 
chorus  went  well,  but  might  have  gone  better  if  I  had  not 
been  so  upset.  Sat  in  the  box  with  Reno  and  Hyde 
during  the  beautiful  oratorio,  The  Shulamite.  Walked  with 
Reno  and  Carnegie  to  sup  with  Damrosch.  This  arch- 
millionaire  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  constantly  talks  of 


648  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

an  engagement  for  next  year.  ...  A  good  deal  of  cham- 
pagne was  drunk.  I  sat  between  the  host  and  the  con- 
ductor, Dannreuther.  While  I  was  talking  to  him  about 
his  brother  he  must  have  had  the  impression,  for  at  least 
two  hours,  that  I  was  either  a  madman  or  an  impudent 
liar.  He  sat  with  his  mouth  open,  and  looked  quite 
astonished.  It  seems  that  I  had  confused  the  pianist 
Dannreuther  with  the  pianist  Hartvigson.  My  absent- 
mindedness  is  becoming  almost  unbearable,  and  is  a  sign 
of  advancing  age.  However,  everyone  was  surprised  to 
learn  that  I  was  only  fifty-one  yesterday.  Carnegie 
especially  was  very  much  astonished.  They  all  thought, 
except  those  who  knew  something  of  my  life,  that  I  was 
much  older.  Probably  I  have  aged  very  much  in  the  last 
few  years.  I  feel  I  have  lost  vitality.  I  returned  in  Car- 
negie's carriage.  This  talk  about  my  age  resulted  in 
dreadful  dreams  ;  I  thought  I  slipped  down  a  tremen- 
dously steep  wall  into  the  sea,  and  then  climbed  on  to  a 
little  rocky  projection.  Probably  this  was  the  result  of 
our  conversation  yesterday. 

"  Every  day  Romeike  sends  me  a  heap  of  newspaper 
cuttings  about  myself.  All,  without  exception,  are  written 
in  terms  of  the  highest  praise.  The  Third  Suite  is  praised 
to  the  skies,  and,  what  is  more,  my  conducting  also.  Am 
I  really  such  a  good  conductor,  or  do  the  Americans 
exaggerate  ? 

"April  27  th  (May  qth). 

"  The  manager  of  the  Composers'  Club  called  upon 
me  and  wished  to  arrange  an  evening  for  my  compositions. 
Mrs.  White1  sent  me  such  a  quantity  of  lovely  flowers 
that,  owing  to  lack  of  room  and  vases,  I  had  to  give  some 
to  Max,  who  was  highly  delighted,  as  his  wife  is  passion- 
ately fond  of  them.  Ritzel,  the  violinist,  also  called  upon 
me.  He  would  like  to  have  my  portrait,  and  told  me  that 
the  members  of  the  orchestra  were  quite  delighted  with 
me.  This  touched  me  very  much.  I  changed  my  things, 
and  took  Mayer  my  large  portrait.  From  there  I  went  to 
Schirmer's,  and  then  hurried  to  the  Music  Hall,  where  I 
was  to  make  my  last  appearance  before  the  public.  All 

1  Schirmer's  married  daughter. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  649 

these  visits  made  before  the  concert  show  how  calm  I  was 
at  this  time.  Why,  I  do  not  know.  In  the  artists'  room 
I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  singer  who  sang  one  of  my 
songs  yesterday.  A  very  fine  artist  and  a  charming 
woman.  My  Concerto  went  magnificently,  thanks  to 
Aus-der-Ohe's  brilliant  interpretation.  The  enthusiasm 
was  far  greater  than  anything  I  have  met  with,  even  in 
Russia.  I  was  recalled  over  and  over  again  ;  handkerchiefs 
were  waved,  cheers  resounded — in  fact,  it  is  easy  to  see 
that  I  have  taken  the  Americans  by  storm.  But  what  I 
valued  most  of  all  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the  orchestra. 
Owing  to  the  heat  and  my  exertions,  I  was  bathed  in  per- 
spiration, and  could  not,  unfortunately,  listen  to  the  scenes 
from  Parsifal.  At  the  last  evening  concert  of  the  Festival 
I  sat  alternately  in  the  boxes  of  Carnegie,  Hyde,  and 
Reno.  The  whole  of  Handel's  oratorio,  Israel  in  Egypt \ 
was  given.  During  the  course  of  the  evening  the  architect 
of  the  Hall  received  an  ovation.  Afterwards  I  had  supper 
with  Damrosch  at  the  Sachs'.  .  .  . 

"  April  rtth  (May  loth). 

"  This  has  been  a  very  hqavy  day.  In  the  morning  I 
was  besieged  by  visitors.  The  interesting  Korbay,  the 
young,  good-looking  composer  Klein,  the  pianist  F. — 
with  gold-stopped  teeth — and  others  I  do  not  remember. 
I  went  out  at  one  o'clock  to  call  on  the  nihilist  Starck- 
Stoleshnikov,  but  he  lives  so  far  away,  and  the  heat  was 
so  oppressive,  that  I  gave  it  up.  I  hastened  instead  to 
Dr.  N.'s,  and  arrived  there  in  good  time.  Dr.  N.  is  a 
Russian — at  least  he  was  brought  up  in  Russia.  His 
wife,  as  I  finally  discovered,  is  Countess  G.  They  have 
lived  in  America  since  1860,  and  often  go  to  Europe,  but 
never  visit  Russia.  I  did  not  like  to  ask  their  reason  for 
avoiding  it.  They  are  both  ardent  patriots,  and  have  a 
genuine  love  of  Russia.  In  speaking  of  our  country  he 
seems  to  think  that  despotism  and  bureaucracy  hinder  it 
from  becoming  a  leading  nation.  It  strikes  me  that  he  is 
a  freethinker  who  has  at  some  time  brought  down  the 
wrath  of  the  Government  on  himself,  and  fled  just  at  the 
right  moment.  But  his  liberalism  is  not  in  the  least  akin 
to  Nihilism  or  Anarchism.  Both  frequently  asserted  that 


6so  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

they  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  nihilists  in  this  country. 
I  lunched  with  them  about  three  o'clock,  and  then  rushed 
off  to  B.  MacMahan's  (owing  to  a  lack  of  cabs  one  has  to 
walk  everywhere).  While  the  N.s'  house  is  almost  luxuri- 
ously furnished,  this  Russian  correspondent  lives  quite  in 
the  student  style.  Somewhat  later  the  celebrated  sculptor 
Kamensky  came  in ;  he  has  lived  in  America  for  the  last 
twenty  years,  but  I  do  not  know  why.  He  is  an  old, 
somewhat  invalidish-looking  man,  with  a  deep  scar  on  his 
forehead.  He  confused  me  very  much  by  asking  me  to 
tell  him  everything  that  I  knew  about  the  Russia  of  to- 
day. I  did  not  quite  know  how  to  accomplish  such  a  vast 
undertaking,  but  Barbara  Nikolaevna  (Mrs.  MacMahan) 
began  to  talk  about  my  music,  and  I  soon  took  my 
departure,  as  I  had  to  go  home  and  dress  before  dining 
with  Carnegie.  All  the  cafes  are  closed  on  Sundays.  This 
English  Puritanism,  which  shows  itself  in  such  senseless 
trivialities  (for  instance,  one  can  only  obtain  a  glass  of 
whisky  or  beer  on  Sunday  by  means  of  some  fraud),  irri- 
tates me  very  much.  It  is  said  that  the  men  who  brought 
this  law  into  force  in  the  State  of  New  York  were  them- 
selves heavy  drinkers.  I  had  scarcely  time  to  change 
and  drive  to  Carnegie's  in  a  carriage,  which  had  to  be 
fetched  from  some  distance,  and  was  very  expensive. 
This  millionaire  really  does  not  live  so  luxuriously  as 
many  other  people.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Reno,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Damrosch,  the  architect  of  the  Music  Hall  and  his  wife,  an 
unknown  gentleman  and  a  stout  friend  of  Mrs.  Damrosch's 
were  at  dinner.  I  sat  beside  this  aristocratic  and  evidently 
distinguished  lady.  This  singular  man,  Carnegie,  who 
rapidly  rose  from  a  telegraph  apprentice  to  be  one  of  the 
richest  men  in  America,  while  still  remaining  quite  simple, 
inspires  me  with  unusual  confidence,  perhaps  because  he 
shows  me  so  much  sympathy.  During  the  evening  he 
expressed  his  liking  for  me  in  a  very  marked  manner. 
He  took  both  my  hands  in  his,  and  declared  that,  though 
not  crowned,  I  was  a  genuine  king  of  music.  He  em- 
braced me  (without  kissing  me :  men  do  not  kiss  over 
here),  got  on  tiptoe  and  stretched  his  hand  up  to  indicate 
my  greatness,  and  finally  made  the  whole  company  laugh 
by  imitating  my  conducting.  This  he  did  so  solemnly,  so 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  651 

well,  and  so  like  me,  that  I  myself  was  quite  delighted. 
His  wife  is  also  an  extremely  simple  and  charming  young 
lady,  and  showed  her  interest  in  me  in  every  possible  way. 
All  this  was  very  pleasant,  but  still  I  was  glad  to  get  home 
again  at  eleven,  as  I  felt  somewhat  bored. 

"  April  2^th  (May  i  ith). 

"  Mayer  fetched  me  at  a  quarter-past  eight.  How  should 
I  have  got  on  without  Mayer?  I  got  a  seat  in  a  saloon 
carriage.  .  .  .  We  reached  Buffalo  at  8.30.  I  was  met  by 
two  gentlemen  whom  Mayer  had  instructed  to  look  after 
me,  as  I  had  to  change  here,  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  find 
one's  way  in  this  labyrinth  of  lines.  I  reached  Niagara 
fifty  minutes  after  leaving  Buffalo,  and  went  to  the  hotel  in 
which  a  room  —  also  thanks  to  Mayer  —  was  reserved  for 
me.  The  hotel  is  quite  unpretentious  —  after  the  style  of 
the  small  Swiss  inns  —  but  very  clean  and  convenient,  as 
German  is  spoken.  I  went  to  bed  early.  The  roaring  of 
the  waterfall  is  very  audible  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

"NIAGARA,  April  $Qth  (May  i2tfy. 

"  The  carriage  was  here  at  nine  o'clock.  There  was  no 
guide,  which  was  very  pleasant.  I  will  not  try  to  describe 
the  beauties  of  the  Falls  ;  it  is  hard  to  find  words  for 
these  things.  In  the  afternoon  I  walked  again  to  the  Falls 
and  round  the  town.  During  this  walk  —  as  in  the  morn- 
ing —  I  could  not  get  rid  of  a  curious  —  probably  entirely 
nervous  —  lassitude,  which  prevented  my  full  enjoyment  of 
this  beautiful  scenery.  I  started  again  at  a  quarter-past 
six  in  a  special  sleeping-carriage. 


"NEW  YORK,  May  ist 

"At  five  o'clock  I  awoke,  my  mind  full  of  anxious 
thoughts  about  the  approaching  week,  which  I  dread  so 
much.  I  was  home  by  8  a.m.,  and  very  glad  to  see  Max 
again.  The  news  of  the  attempt  on  the  Tsarevich  made 
me  feel  very  sad.  I  was  also  grieved  to  find  that  there 
were  no  letters  from  home  —  and  I  had  hoped  to  find 
a  number.  Many  visitors.  I  hired  a  carriage  from  the 
hotel,  on  account  of  the  great  distances  which  I  had  to  get 


652  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

over  to-day.  First  I  went  to  say  good-bye  to  Damrosch, 
as  he  is  going  to  Europe.  He  asked  me  to  take  him  as  a 
pupil.  Of  course  I  refused,  but  am  afraid  involuntarily  I 
showed  far  too  plainly  my  horror  at  the  idea  of  Damrosch 
arriving  at  my  country  home  to  study  with  me.  From 
there  I  hastened  to  lunch  at  the  Renos'.  The  coachman 
was  quite  drunk,  and  would  not  understand  where  I  wanted 
him  to  drive.  It  was  lucky  I  knew  the  way  myself.  The 
Renos  received  me  as  cordially  as  ever.  Afterwards  I 
went  to  Mayer's.  Then  the  same  drunken  coachman  drove 
Mayer  and  myself  to  the  great  steam-ferry  which  conveys 
carriages,  horses,  and  foot-passengers  over  the  East  River. 
Thence  we  went  by  train  to  Mayer's  summer  residence.  I 
felt  so  tired,  so  irritable  and  unhappy,  I  could  hardly 
restrain  my  tears.  His  family  is  good  and  kind,  but  all 
the  same  I  was  bored,  and  longed  to  get  away.  In  the 
afternoon  we  walked  along  the  shore  ;  the  sea  was  rather 
rough.  The  air  is  so  fresh  and  pure  here  that  my  walk 
really  gave  me  pleasure  and  did  me  good.  I  stayed  the 
night  at  Mayer's,  but  slept  badly. 


"  May 

"  I  got  up  at  six  o'clock.  Went  down  to  the  sea,  and 
was  delighted.  After  breakfast  we  drove  into  the  town. 
I  should  have  liked  to  be  alone.  Miss  Ross  came  to  see 
me.  My  letter  on  Wagner  has  been  published,  and  created 
quite  a  sensation.  Anton  Seidl,  the  celebrated  conductor 
and  Wagnerian,  had  published  a  lengthy  reply,  in  which 
he  attacked  me,  but  in  quite  a  friendly  tone.  Miss  Ross 
came  to  ask  me  to  write  an  answer  to  Seidl's  reply.  I  set 
to  work  upon  it,  but  was  interrupted  by  X.,  who  stayed  an 
endless  time,  and  told  me  all  kinds  of  uninteresting 
musical  gossip,  which  I  had  heard  a  hundred  times  before. 
The  next  to  come  was  the  correspondent  of  a  Philadelphia 
newspaper,  who  is  one  of  my  most  fervent  admirers.  I 
had  to  speak  English  with  him  :  I  have  made  progress, 
and  can  say  a  few  phrases  very  well.  Wrote  letters. 
Breakfasted  alone  in  my  hotel.  Wandered  through  the 
Central  Park.  According  to  my  promise,  I  went  over 
to  Z.'s  to  write  a  testimonial  for  the  *  *  *  pianofortes. 
Was  this  the  object  of  all  Z.'s  attentions?  All  these 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  653 

presents,  all  this  time  and  money  spent  on  me,  all  these 
unaccountable  kindnesses,  were  these  intended  as  a  pre- 
mium for  a  future  puff?  I  proposed  that  Z.  himself 
should  write  the  testimonial.  He  sat  for  a  long  time,  but 
could  not  think  of  anything ;  so  we  put  it  off  until  our 
next  meeting.  Then  I  paid  a  call  on  Tretbar,  Steinway's 
representative,  for  whom  I  had  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  Jurgenson.  He  had  waited  till  now  without  calling 
upon  me  because  he  did  not  wish  to  make  the  first 
advances.  I  had  purposely  delayed  my  visit  from  similar 
motives.  Home  to  pack.  Shortly  afterwards  a  messenger 
from  Z.  brought  me  the  testimonial  to  sign.  It  read  as 
follows  :  '/  consider  the  *  *  *  pianofortes  without  doubt  the 
best  in  America'  Now  as  I  do  not  think  so  at  all,  but  value 
some  other  makers'  far  more  highly,  I  declined  to  have 
my  opinion  expressed  in  this  form.  I  told  Z.,  that  not- 
withstanding my  deep  gratitude  to  him,  I  could  not  tell  a 
lie.  The  reporter  from  the  Herald  came  to  see  me — a  very 
interesting  man.  Drove  to  Hyde's.  I  wish  I  could  find 
words  to  describe  all  the  charm  and  originality  of  this 
interesting  couple.  Hyde  greeted  me  with  these  words: 
*  Kak  vasche  sdorovie  ?  sidite  poschaljust' x  Then  he 
laughed  like  a  lunatic,  and  his  wife  and  I  joined  in.  He  had 
bought  a  guide  to  Russian  conversation,  and  learnt  a  few 
phrases  as  a  surprise  to  me.  Mrs.  Hyde  immediately  in- 
vited me  to  smoke  a  cigarette  in  her  drawing-room — the 
climax  of  hospitality  in  America.  After  the  cigarette  we 
went  to  dinner.  The  table  was  most  exquisitely  decorated 
with  flowers ;  everyone  received  a  bouquet.  Then,  quite 
unexpectedly,  Hyde  became  very  solemn,  closed  his  eyes 
and  said  the  Lord's  Prayer.  I  did  the  same  as  the 
others :  lowered  my  eyes  and  gazed  on  the  ground. 
Then  began  an  endlessly  long  dinner.  ...  At  ten  o'clock 
I  withdrew.  At  home  a  messenger  from  Knabe  was 
waiting  for  me.  We  drank  a  glass  of  beer  together,  took 
my  trunk,  and  went  down  town.  We  went  over  the  Hud- 
son in  the  steam  ferry,  and  finally  reached  the  station. 
Knabe's  messenger  (without  whose  help  I  should  certainly 
have  been  lost)  engaged  a  comfortable  coupt  for  me ;  the 
friendly  negro  made  the  bed,  I  threw  myself  on  it  just  as 

1  Broken  Russian.     "  How  are  you?    Please  sit  down." 


654  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  was,  for  I  really  had  not  the  strength  to  undress,  and 
sank  at  once  into  a  deep  sleep.  I  slept  soundly,  but  not 
for  long.  The  negro  woke  me  an  hour  before  my  arrival 
at  Baltimore. 

"BALTIMORE,  May  $rd  (i$th). 

"  As  usual,  I  was  received  at  the  hotel  with  cool  con- 
tempt. Sitting  alone  in  my  room,  I  suddenly  felt  so  un- 
happy, chiefly  because  everyone  around  me  speaks  only 
English.  I  slept  a  little.  Then  I  went  into  a  restaurant 
for  breakfast,  and  was  quite  annoyed  because  the  waiter 
(a  negro)  would  not  understand  that  I  wished  for  tea  and 
bread-and-butter  only.  I  had  to  go  to  the  desk,  where 
they  did  not  understand  me  any  better.  At  last  a  gentle- 
man knowing  a  little  German  kindly  came  to  my  help. 
I  had  hardly  sat  down  when  Knabe,  a  stout  man,  came 
in.  Very  shortly  after,  Adele  Aus-der-Ohe  and  her  sister 
joined  us,  too.  I  was  very  glad  to  see  them,  for  they 
seem  like  connections,  at  least  as  regards  music.  We 
went  to  the  rehearsal  together.  This  was  held  on  the 
stage  of  the  Lyceum  Theatre.  The  orchestra  was  small, 
only  four  first  violins,  but  not  bad.  But  the  Third  Suite 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was  decided  to  put  the 
Serenade  for  strings  in  its  place.  The  orchestra  did  not 
know  this  work.  The  conductor  had  not  even  played  it 
through,  although  Reno  had  promised  that  this  should 
be  done.  The  Concerto  with  Adele  Aus-der-Ohe  went 
very  smoothly,  but  the  Serenade  needs  many  rehearsals. 
The  orchestra  was  impatient.  The  young  leader  behaved 
in  rather  a  tactless  way,  and  made  it  too  clearly  evident 
that  he  thought  it  time  to  stop.  It  is  true- — this  unhappy 
touring  orchestra  must  be  wearied  by  their  constant 
travelling.  After  the  rehearsal  I  went  home  with  Adele 
Aus-der-Ohe,  dressed,  and  went  immediately  to  the 
concert.  I  conducted  in  my  frock-coat.  Happily  every- 
thing went  very  well,  but  there  was  little  enthusiasm  in 
comparison  with  New  York.  After  the  concert  we  both 
drove  home  to  change.  Half  an  hour  later  Knabe  called 
for  us.  His  hospitality  is  on  the  same  colossal  scale  as 
his  figure.  This  beardless  giant  had  arranged  a  festivity 
in  my  honour  at  his  own  house.  I  found  a  number  of 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  655 

people  there.  The  dinner  was  endlessly  long,  but  very 
tasteful  and  good,  as  were  also  the  wines  with  which 
Knabe  kept  filling  up  our  glasses.  During  the  second 
half  of  the  dinner  I  felt  quite  worn  out.  A  terrible 
hatred  of  everything  seemed  to  come  over  me,  especially 
of  my  two  neighbours.  After  dinner  I  conversed  a  little 
with  everyone,  and  smoked  and  drank  ceaselessly.  At 
half-past  twelve  Knabe  brought  me  home,  and  also  the 
sisters  Aus-der-Ohe. 

"WASHINGTON,  tfh  (i6th}. 

"  I  woke  early,  breakfasted  downstairs,  wrote  my  diary, 
and  waited,  rather  in  fear  and  trembling,  for  Knabe,  who 
wanted  to  show  me  the  sights  of  the  town.  At  last  he 
came  and,  together  with  the  sisters  Aus-der-Ohe,  we  drove 
round  Baltimore.  Weather  bad  and  inclined  to  rain. 
Baltimore  is  a  pretty,  clean  town.  Then  the  good-natured 
giant  helped  me  to  pack  my  box,  invited  Aus-der-Ohe  and 
myself  to  a  champagne  lunch,  and  finally  put  me  in  the 
carriage  that  was  to  take  me  to  my  destination.  He  him- 
self was  travelling  to  Philadelphia,  while  I  was  going  to 
Washington.  The  journey  lasted  about  three-quarters  of 
an  hour.  I  was  met  by  Botkin,  who  accompanied  me  to 
the  hotel,  where  a  room  was  engaged  for  me.  This  was 
delightfully  comfortable,  and  at  the  same  time  tastefully 
and  simply  furnished.  I  declined  to  receive  Rennen, 
begged  Botkin  to  call  for  me  before  the  dinner,  took  a 
bath,  and  hurried  into  my  dress  clothes.  The  dinner  was 
given  in  the  Metropolitan  Club,  of  which  Botkin  and  his 
colleagues  are  members.  The  dinner  was  very  gay,  and  I 
was  so  delighted  to  talk  Russian  once  more,  although  this 
happiness  was  a  little  dimmed  by  the  sad  fact  that  my  *  s,' 
1  sch/  '  tsch,'  are  beginning  to  sound  rather  indistinct  from 
age.  During  the  dinner  we  heard,  first  by  telegram  and 
then  through  the  telephone,  that  the  Ambassador  Struve 
had  returned  from  a  journey  to  New  York  solely  on  my 
account.  At  ten  o'clock  we  all  repaired  to  the  Embassy, 
where  Botkin  had  arranged  a  musical  evening.  About  a 
hundred  persons  were  invited.  The  Ambassador  also 
arrived,  an  old  man,  very  cordial  and  also  interesting. 
The  company  at  the  Embassy  belonged  principally  to  the 


656  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

diplomatic  circle.  There  were  ambassadors  with  their 
wives  and  daughters,  and  personages  belonging  to  the 
highest  class  of  the  diplomatic  service.  Most  of  the  ladies 
spoke  French,  so  things  were  not  so  difficult  for  me.  The 
programme  consisted  of  my  Trio  and  a  Quartet  by 
Brahms.  Hausen,  the  Secretary  to  our  Embassy,  was  at 
the  piano,  and  he  proved  quite  a  respectable  pianist.  My 
Trio  he  played  decidedly  well.  The  violinist  was  only 
middling.  I  was  introduced  to  everyone.  After  the 
music  there  was  an  excellent  cold  supper.  When  most  of 
the  guests  had  left,  ten  of  us  (the  Belgian  Ambassador 
and  the  Secretaries  to  the  Swedish  and  Austrian  Embassies, 
besides  the  Russians)  sat  for  some  time  longer  at  a  large 
round  table,  before  an  excellent  flagon.  Struve  enjoys  a 
glass  of  wine.  He  gave  me  the  impression  of  a  broken 
and  unhappy  man  who  finds  it  a  consolation.  It  was 
three  o'clock  before  I  went  home,  accompanied  by  Botkin 
and  Hausen. 

"May  5//fr  (17^). 

"  Awoke  with  pleasant  memories  of  yesterday.  I  always 
feel  well  in  Russian  society  when  I  am  not  obliged  to 
speak  a  foreign  tongue.  At  twelve  o'clock  Botkin  called 
for  me  to  lunch  with  the  Ambassador,  Struve.  Afterwards 
I  went  with  Botkin  and  Hausen  to  see  the  sights  of 
Washington. 

"PHILADELPHIA,  May  6th  (i8M). 

"  I  reached  Philadelphia  at  three  o'clock.  Breakfasted 
downstairs.  A  very  importunate  Jew  from  Odessa  called 
and  got  some  money  out  of  me.  Went  for  a  walk.  The 
concert  at  eight  p.m.  The  enormous  theatre  was  filled  to 
overflowing.  After  the  concert,  according  to  long-standing 
promise,  I  went  to  the  club.  The  return  journey  to  New 
York  was  very  wearisome. 

"May  Tth  (19^). 

"  Feel  quite  stupid  from  exhaustion  and  constant  travel- 
ling. I  could  stand  no  more,  if  it  were  not  for  the  thought 
of  my  departure  to-morrow,  which  buoys  me  up.  I  am 
inundated  with  requests  for  my  autograph.  At  12.30  I 
went  over  to  Z.'s  and  wrote  the  testimonial,  omitting 
the  phrase  which  ranks  these  pianos  as  the  first.  Went 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  657 

home   and  waited   for  the   composer   Brummklein.     He 
came  and  played  me  some  very  pretty  things. 

"  May  %th  (20^). 

"  The  old  librettist  came.  I  was  very  sorry  to  have  to 
tell  him  I  could  not  compose  an  opera  to  his  libretto.  He 
seemed  very  sad.  Scarcely  had  he  gone  before  Dannreu- 
ther  came  in  to  take  me  to  the  rehearsal  of  the  Quartets 
and  Trios  to  be  played  this  evening  at  the  Composers' 
Club.  It  was  rather  a  long  distance.  The  Quartet  was 
indifferently  played  and  the  Trio  really  badly,  for  the 
pianist,  a  shy,  nervous  man,  was  no  good :  he  could  not 
even  count.  I  had  no  time  to  make  any  preparations  for 
the  journey.  Drove  to  Renos'.  They  received  me  with 
more  kindness  and  cordiality  than  ever,  especially  Madame 
Reno  and  her  three  daughters.  The  eldest  (Anna,  who 
is  married)  gave  me  a  beautiful  cigar-case,  M.  Reno  a 
quantity  of  scent,  and  Alice  and  her  sister  cakes  for  the 
journey.  Then  I  hurried  to  Hyde's.  Mrs.  Hyde  was 
already  expecting  me.  Here  too  I  was  received  with 
great  kindness  and  sincere  enthusiasm.  At  last  I  got 
home  to  pack  my  box.  Hateful  business,  which  gave  me 
a  dreadful  pain  in  my  back.  Tired  out,  I  went  over  to 
Mayer's,  and  invited  him  to  dinner  at  Martelli's.  At  eight 
o'clock  I  was  taken  to  the  Composers'  Club.  This  is  not 
a  club  of  composers,  as  I  first  thought,  but  a  special 
musical  union  which  arranges,  from  time  to  time,  evenings 
devoted  to  the  works  of  one  composer.  Yesterday  was 
devoted  to  me,  and  the  concert  was  held  in  the  magnificent 
Metropolitan  House.  I  sat  in  the  first  row.  They  played 
the  Quartet  (E  flat  minor)  and  the  Trio ;  some  songs 
were  very  well  sung,  but  the  programme  was  too  long.  In 
the  middle  of  the  evening  I  received  an  address ;  I 
answered  shortly,  in  French ;  of  course  an  ovation.  One 
lady  threw  an  exquisite  bouquet  of  roses  straight  in  my 
face.  I  was  introduced  to  a  crowd  of  people,  among 
others  our  Consul-General.  At  the  conclusion  I  had  to 
speak  to  about  a  hundred  people  and  distribute  a  hundred 
autographs.  I  reached  home  half  dead  with  fatigue.  As 
the  steamer  left  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  had  to  go 
on  board  that  night,  so  I  dressed  with  all  speed,  and 

2  u 


658  LIFE    AND    LETTERS   OF 

packed  my  things  while  Reno  and  Mayer  waited  for 
me.  Downstairs  we  drank  two  bottles  of  champagne.  I 
said  good-bye  to  the  servants  of  the  hotel  and  drove  off  to 
the  steamer.  The  drive  was  very  long.  The  steamer  is 
quite  as  fine  as  the  Bretagne ;  I  have  an  officer's  cabin. 
On  this  ship  the  officers  are  allowed  to  let  their  cabins,  but 
they  ask  an  exorbitant  price.  I  had  to  pay  300  dollars 
(1,500  francs)  for  mine.  ,  .  .  But  it  is  really  nice  and  very 
roomy.  I  said  good-bye  to  my  dear  American  friends 
and  went  straight  to  bed.  I  slept  badly  and  heard  all  the 
noise  when  the  steamer  started  at  five  o'clock.  I  came 
out  of  my  cabin  as  we  passed  the  statue  of  Freedom." 

Altogether  Tchaikovsky  gave  six  concerts  in  America  : 
four  in  New  York,  one  in  Baltimore,  and  one  in  Philadel- 
phia. The  following  works  were  performed:  (i)  The  Coro- 
nation March,  (2)  Third  Suite,  (3)  two  Sacred  Choruses : 
the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Legend,  (4)  Pianoforte  Con- 
certo No.  i,  and  (5)  Serenade  for  string  instruments. 

I  have  before  me  sixteen  American  Press  notices  of 
Tchaikovsky,  and  all  are  written  in  a  tone  of  unqualified 
praise  ;  the  only  difference  lies  in  the  degree  of  enthusiasm 
expressed.  According  to  some  he  is  "  the  first  of  modern 
composers  after  Wagner " ;  according  to  others,  "  one  of 
the  first."  His  talent  as  a  conductor  is  equally  praised. 
Everywhere  he  had  an  unprecedented  success,  and  many 
spoke  of  his  interesting  appearance.  The  interviews 
(especially  those  in  The  New  York  Herald)  are  repro- 
duced with  astonishing  fidelity.  As  we  read  them  we  can 
almost  fancy  we  can  hear  the  voice  of  Tchaikovsky 
himself. 

XIII 

"' PRINCE  BISMARCK/  May  qtk  (2ist). 

"  On  account  of  the  maddening  pain  in  my  back,  I 
dressed  with  great  difficulty,  went  below  for  my  morning 
tea,  and  then  walked  about  the  ship  to  make  myself  better 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  659 

acquainted  with  the  various  quarters.  A  host  of  passen- 
gers, but  of  totally  different  appearance  to  those  who 
travelled  with  me  on  the  Bretagne.  The  most  perceptible 
difference  lies  in  the  fact  that  there  are  no  emigrants.  At 
eight  a.m.  I  was  called  to  breakfast.  My  place  had  already 
been  allotted  to  me.  I  had  a  middle-aged  man  for  my 
neighbour,  who  immediately  began  to  converse.  Slept 
the  whole  morning.  The  sight  of  the  sea  leaves  me  in- 
different. I  think  with  horror  of  the  rest  of  the  journey, 
but  also  with  longing:  may  it  soon  be  over.  This  is  a 
very  fast  ship  ;  it  is  the  magnificent  new  Prince  Bismarck^ 
and  is  making  its  first  passage.  Last  week  it  only  took 
six  days  and  fourteen  hours  from  Hamburg  to  New  York. 
I  trust  we  shall  get  over  the  horrible  distance  as  quickly. 
The  motion  is  not  so  smooth  as  that  of  the  Bretagne.  The 
weather  is  splendid  just  now.  At  breakfast  I  became 
better  acquainted  with  my  vis-a-vis.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
to  what  nationality  he  belongs,  as  he  speaks  all  languages 
wonderfully  well ;  perhaps  he  is  a  Jew,  so  I  told  him  on 
purpose  the  story  of  the  importunate  Jew.  He  lives  in 
Dresden,  and  is  a  wholesale  tobacco  dealer.  He  has 
already  discovered  who  I  am.  If  he  speaks  the  truth, 
he  heard  me  conduct  in  New  York  ;  anyway,  he  improves 
on  acquaintance.  I  have  got  so  accustomed  to  talking 
in  New  York  that,  in  spite  of  my  preference  for  silence, 
I  can  stand  his  society  without  being  bored.  I  am 
astonished  to  find  I  sleep  so  much.  In  the  evening,  soon 
after  dinner,  I  was  so  overcome  that  I  went  to  bed  at  ten 
o'clock  and  slept  straight  on  until  seven  the  next  morn- 
ing. Nothing  particular  happened  during  the  day.  A 
Mr.  Aronson  and  his  young  wife  introduced  themselves 
to  me.  He  is  the  proprietor  of  the  Casino  Theatre 
(favoured  by  Von  Biilow),  as  I  discovered  by  means  of  an 
autograph  album  which  was  sent  to  me  that  I  might  write 
my  name  and  a  few  lines  in  it.  Schroder,  the  man  who 
attends  to  my  cabin,  is  a  good-natured  young  German ; 
at  table  also  there  are  two  nice  German  stewards — this  is 
very  important  for  me.  I  am  pleased  with  the  ship,  the 
cabin,  and  the  food.  As  there  are  no  emigrants  I  can 
walk  on  the  lower  deck  ;  this  is  very  pleasant,  as  I  meet 
no  first-class  passengers  there  and  can  be  quiet. 


66o  LIFE    AND    LETTERS   OF 

"May  \\th 

"  I  keep  very  much  to  myself  and,  thanks  to  my 
splendid  cabin,  in  which  there  is  plenty  of  room  to  move 
about,  I  feel  much  freer  than  on  the  Bretagne.  I  only  use 
the  drawing-room  in  the  morning  when  no  one  is  there. 
There  is  a  nice  Steinway  grand,  and  not  at  all  a  bad 
musical  library,  including  a  few  of  my  own  productions. 
The  day  is  divided  as  follows  :  Dress,  ring  my  bell, 
and  Schroder  brings  me  a  cup  of  tea  ;  first  breakfast, 
eight  o'clock  ;  walk  on  the  lower  deck,  work,  read.  By 
work  I  mean  the  sketches  for  my  next  Symphony.  At 
twelve  o'clock  the  gong  sounds  for  second  breakfast.  .  .  . 
I  am  reading  a  book  by  Tatistchev,  Alexandre  et  Napoleon. 


"May  \\th 

"  In  New  York  they  so  often  assured  me  that  the 
sea  was  calm  at  this  time  of  year  that  I  believed  them. 
But  what  a  disenchantment!  Since  early  morning  the 
weather  has  been  getting  worse  :  rain,  wind,  and  towards 
evening  quite  a  gale.  A  dreadful  night,  could  not  sleep, 
so  sat  on  the  sofa.  Towards  morning  dozed  a  little. 

"May  i2th  (24^). 

"A  detestable  day.  The  weather  is  frightful.  Sea- 
sickness, could  eat  nothing  but  an  orange. 


<c  I  feel  quite  unnerved  from  exhaustion  and  sickness. 
Yesterday  evening  I  fell  asleep  in  my  clothes  on  my  sofa 
and  slept  there  the  whole  night.  To-day  the  motion  is 
less,  but  the  weather  is  still  dreadful.  My  nerves  are  in- 
expressibly strained  and  irritated  by  this  ceaseless  noise 
and  horrible  cracking.  Shall  I  ever  make  up  my  mind  to 
endure  such  torment  again  ? 

"  During  the  course  of  the  day  the  motion  grew  still 
less  and  the  weather  improved.  I  have  taken  such  a  dis- 
like to  the  society  of  my  fellow-passengers  that  the  very 
sight  of  them  annoys  and  irritates  me.  I  constantly  sit  in 
my  own  cabin. 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  66  1 


"May  i^th  (26th). 

"  The  moon  was  magnificent  to-night.  I  read  in  my 
cabin  till  I  was  tired,  and  then  went  out  for  a  stroll  on 
deck.  Everyone,  without  exception,  was  asleep,  and  I 
was  the  only  one  of  the  300  first-class  passengers  who  had 
come  out  to  enjoy  the  lovely  night.  It  was  beautiful 
beyond  all  words.  It  was  strange  to  think  of  the  terrible 
night  on  Sunday,  when  everything  in  my  cabin,  even  my 
trunk,  was  hurled  from  one  side  to  the  other,  and  the 
vessel  seemed  to  be  fighting  for  life  against  the  storm  ; 
when  one  was  racked  with  terror,  and,  added  to  all,  the 
electric  lamp  and  bell  fell  with  a  crash  on  the  floor  and 
was  smashed  to  pieces.  That  night  I  vowed  never  to 
make  another  sea-voyage.  But  Schroder,  my  steward, 
says  he  resolves  to  give  up  his  place  every  time  the 
weather  is  bad,  but  no  sooner  is  he  in  harbour  than  he 
longs  for  the  sea  again.  Perhaps  it  may  be  the  same  with 
me.  The  passengers  are  getting  up  a  concert,  and  want 
me  to  play.  Quite  the  worst  part  of  a  sea-voyage  is 
having  to  know  all  the  passengers. 

"May  i$th  (2*1  th). 

"  As  we  neared  the  Channel  it  became  more  lively. 
Hundreds  of  little  ships  came  in  sight.  About  two  o'clock 
the  English  coast  was  visible  ;  sometimes  rocky  and 
picturesque,  sometimes  flat  and  green  with  spring  grass.  .  .  . 
Soon  afterwards  we  entered  Southampton. 

"May  i6M(a8M).. 

"After  passing  Southampton  and  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
I  went  to  sleep  and  awoke  feeling  rather  chilly.  .  .  . 
Enjoyed  the  views  of  the  English  coast  and  the  sight 
of  the  many  steamers  and  sailing  vessels  which  enliven  the 
Channel.  We  saw  Folkestone  and  Dover.  The  North 
Sea  is  very  lively.  We  passed  Heligoland  in  the  night 


"  May  iith  (zgtti). 

"  Arrived  early  this  morning  at  Cuxhaven.  ...  At 
8  a.m.  we  went  on  board  a  small  steamer  that  took  us 
to  the  Custom  House.  Long  wait  and  examination. 
Arrived  at  Hamburg  by  midday." 


662  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  spent  one  day  in  Hamburg  and  one  in 
Berlin  ;  then  travelled  direct  to  Petersburg. 

During  his  short  stay  there  he  was  in  a  cheerful  frame 
of  mind.  This  was  partly  the  result  of  his  reunion 
with  his  friends  and  relatives,  and  partly  the  delightful 
impression  of  the  early  spring  in  Petersburg,  which  he 
always  enjoyed.  This  time  he  was  so  charmed  with 
the  city  that  he  had  a  great  wish  to  settle  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  commissioned  us  to  look  out  for  a  suitable 
house,  or  a  small  country  property. 

Since  Frolovskoe  was  becoming  more  and  more  denuded 
of  its  forests,  and  the  demands  of  the  landlord  steadily 
increased,  Tchaikovsky  decided  to  leave.  After  many 
vain  attempts  to  find  a  suitable  country  house,  or  to 
acquire  a  small  property,  he  resolved  to  return  to  Maida- 
novo.  While  he  was  abroad,  Alexis  Safronov  had  moved 
all  his  belongings  into  the  house  he  formerly  occupied, 
and  arranged  it  just  as  in  1886.  Although  Tchaikovsky 
was  fond  of  this  house  and  its  surroundings,  and  looked 
forward  to  working  there  under  the  old  conditions,  his 
return  somewhat  depressed  him.  There  was  an  air  of 
decay  about  house  and  park  ;  the  walks  did  not  please 
him  ;  and  then  there  was  the  prospect  of  an  inroad  of 
summer  visitors. 

Soon  after  settling  in  Maidanovo  he  was  visited  by 
his  brother,  Modeste  Tchaikovsky,  and  his  nephews, 
Vladimir  Davidov  and  Count  A.  Litke.  All  four  travelled 
to  Moscow  together,  where  he  was  greatly  interested  by 
the  Franco-Russian  Exhibition,  and  enjoyed  acting  as 
cicerone  to  his  favourite  nephews. 

The  chief  musical  works  upon  which  he  was  engaged  at 
this  time  were :  the  second  act  of  the  Ballet,  The  Nut- 
cracker;  the  completion  of  the  opera,  King  Rene's 
Daughter ;  the  remodelling  of  the  Sextet  and  the  in- 
strumentation of  a  symphonic  poem,  The  Voyevode^  com- 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  663 

posed    the    previous    autumn    while   he    was    staying    at 
Tiflis. 

To  P.Jurgenson. 
"  MAIDANOVO,  June  $rd  (i5//&),  1891. 

"  I  have  discovered  a  new  instrument  in  Paris,  some- 
thing between  a  piano  and  a  glockenspiel,  with  a  divinely 
beautiful  tone.  I  want  to  introduce  this  into  the  ballet 
and  the  symphonic  poem.  The  instrument  is  called 
the  'Celesta  Mustel/  and  costs  1,200  francs.  You  can 
only  buy  it  from  the  inventor,  Mustel,  in  Paris.  I  want  to 
ask  you  to  order  one  of  these  instruments.  You  will 
not  lose  by  it,  because  you  can  hire  it  out  to  the  concerts 
at  which  The  Voyevode  will  be  played,  and  afterwards  sell 
it  to  the  Opera  when  my  ballet  is  put  on.  .  .  .  Have 
it  sent  direct  to  Petersburg ;  but  no  one  there  must  know 
about  it  I  am  afraid  Rimsky-Korsakov  and  Glazounov 
might  hear  of  it  and  make  use  of  the  new  effect  before 
I  could.  I  expect  the  instrument  will  make  a  tremendous 
sensation." 

To  J.  Konius. 

" June  i$th(2ith\  1891. 

"...  The  news  that  you  are  engaged  (for  America) 
with  Brodsky  rejoices  me.  Brodsky  is  one  of  the  most 
sympathetic  men  I  ever  met.  He  is  also  a  fine  artist  and 
the  best  quartet  player  I  ever  heard,  not  excepting  Laub, 
who  was  so  great  in  this  line." 

To  V.  Davidov. 

" June  2$th  (July  >]th\  1891. 

"  According  to  my  promise,  I  write  to  let  you  know  that 
I  finished  the  sketch  of  the  ballet  yesterday.  You  will 
remember  my  boasting  when  you  were  here  that  I  should 
get  it  done  in  about  five  days.  But  I  have  taken  at  least 
a  fortnight.  Yes,  the  old  fellow  is  getting  worn  out.  Not 
only  is  his  hair  turning  white  as  snow  and  beginning  to 
fall,  not  only  is  he  losing  his  teeth,  not  only  do  his  eyes 
grow  weaker  and  get  tired  sooner,  not  only  do  his  feet 
begin  to  drag — but  he  is  growing  less  capable  of  accom- 


664  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

plishing  anything.  This  ballet  is  far  weaker  than  The 
Sleeping  Beauty — no  doubt  about  it.  We  shall  see  how  the 
opera  turns  out.  Once  I  feel  convinced  that  1  can  only 
contribute  *  warmed-up '  dishes  to  the  musical  bill  of  fare, 
I  shall  give  up  composing." 

The  following  is  quoted  from  a  letter  to  Arensky,  who 
had  been  consulting  Tchaikovsky  as  to  the  advisability  of 
taking  the  post  of  Director  of  the  Tiflis  branch  of  the 
Musical  Society : — 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  advise  you,  dear  Anton  Stepano- 
vich.  I  would  prefer  not  to  do  so.  If  you  had  some 
private  means,  I  could  only  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  your 
going  to  the  Caucasus  for  a  time.  But  it  saddens  me  to 
think  of  you  in  the  provinces,  remote  from  musical  centres, 
overburdened  with  tiresome  work,  solitary  and  unable  to 
hear  good  music.  You  cannot  imagine  how  it  depresses 
me  to  think  of  men  like  Rimsky-Korsakov,  Liadov,  and 
yourself  being  obliged  to  worry  with  teaching.  But  how 
can  it  be  helped?  I  think  if  you  bear  it  for  another 
two  years,  and  work  hard,  little  by  little,  you  may  manage 
to  live  by  composition  only.  I  know  in  my  own  case  this 
is  not  impossible.  I  earn  enough  now  to  keep  a  large  family, 
if  need  were.  I  may  tell  you  in  conclusion,  that  Tiflis  is 
a  fascinating  town,  and  life  there  is  pleasant." 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"MAIDANOVO,/#/J>  8//4  (20^),  1891. 

"...  Do  not  be  vexed  that  I  stayed  so  long  in  Peters- 
burg without  coming  to  see  you  in  Reval.1  .  .  .  From 
your  letter  I  gather  that  you  are  pretty  comfortable  there, 
although  you  mention  many  difficulties  you  have  to  con- 
tend with.  I  think  one  must  be  very  politic  and  tactful 
in  these  things,  then  we  can  get  over  most  difficulties.  In 
the  diplomatic  service  we  must  often  faire  bonne  mine  au 
mauvais  jeu.  There  is  nothing  for  it !  I  think  you  would 
find  Valoniev's  diary  interesting.  He  was  governor  of  one 
of  the  Baltic  provinces,  and  relates  a  great  deal  that  is 

1  Anatol  was  then  Vice-Governor  of  Estland. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  665 

interesting.  At  that  time  Souvarov,  the  extreme  Liberal, 
ruled  in  these  provinces.  In  the  long  run  the  spirit  of 
Pobiedonostsiev  is  better  than  the  spirit  of  Souvorov." 

Towards  the  end  of  July  a  misfortune  befell  Tchai- 
kovsky which  was  the  cause  of  much  subsequent  anxiety. 
While  he  was  taking  his  afternoon  constitutional,  and 
Alexis  was  resting  in  his  room,  a  thief,  who  probably 
entered  through  the  window,  carried  off  the  clock  which 
had  been  given  to  him  by  Nadejda  von  Meek  in  1888. 
This  clock,  which  was  beautifully  decorated  with  a  figure 
of  Joan  of  Arc  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  with  the 
Apollo  of  the  Grand  Opera,  upon  a  background  of  black 
enamel,  had  been  specially  made  in  Paris,  and  cost  10,000 
francs.  For  years  Tchaikovsky  had  hardly  consented  to 
be  parted  from  this  gift,  even  for  the  necessary  cleaning 
and  repairs.  It  was  his  chief  souvenir  of  his  relations 
with  his  friend  and  benefactress.  The  police  of  Moscow 
and  Klin  were  communicated  with  at  once,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose :  the  clock  was  never  recovered. 

To  V.  Davidov. 

"August  \st  (\$th\  1891. 

"...  I  am  now  reading  your  "  Chevrillon  on  Ceylon," l 
and  thinking  of  you.  I  do  not  altogether  share  your 
enthusiasm.  These  modern  French  writers  are  terribly 
affected  ;  they  have  a  kind  of  affectation  of  simplicity 
which  disgusts  me  almost  as  much  as  Victor  Hugo's  high- 
sounding  phrases,  epithets,  and  antitheses.  Everything 
that  your  favourite  recounts  in  such  a  clever  and  lively 
style  might  be  told  in  very  simple  and  ordinary  language, 
neither  in  such  brief  and  broken  sentences,  nor  yet  in  long 
periods  with  the  subject  and  predicate  in  such  forced  and 
unnatural  positions.  It  is  very  easy  to  parody  this  gentle- 
man : — 

"  Une  serviette  de  table  negligemment  attachee  a  son 
cou,  il  degustait.  Tout  autour  des  mouches,  avides,  grouil- 

1  In  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes>  1891. 


666  LIFE    AND    LETTERS   OF 

lantes,  d'un  noir  inquietant  volaient.  Nul  bruit  sinon  un 
claquement  de  machoirs  enervant.  Une  odeur  moite, 
fetide,  ecoeurante,  lourde,  repandait  un  je  ne  sais  quoi 
d'animal,  de  carnacier  dans  1'air.  Point  de  lumiere.  Un 
rayon  de  soleil  couchant,  penetrant  comme  par  hasard 
dans  la  chambre  nue  et  basse,  eclairait  par-ci,  par-la  tantot 
la  figure  bleme  du  maitre  engurgitant  sa  soupe,  tantot 
celle  du  valet,  moustachue,  a  traits  kalmouks,  stupide  et 
rampante.  On  devinait  un  idiot  servi  par  un  idiot.  9 
heures.  Un  morne  silence  regnait.  Les  mouches  fatiguees, 
somnolentes,  devenues  moins  agitees,  se  dispersaient.  Et 
la-bas,  dans  le  lointain,  par  la  fenetre,  on  voyait  une  lune, 
grimasante,  enorme,  rouge,  surgir  sur  1'horizon  embrase. 
II  mangeait,  il  mangeait  toujours.  Puis  1'estomac  bourre, 
la  face  ecarlate,  1'ceil  hagard,  il  se  leva  et  sortit,  etc.,  etc., 
etc.  I  have  described  my  supper  this  evening.  I  think 
Zola  was  the  discoverer  of  this  mode  of  expression." 

To  A.  Alferaki. 

" August  ist  (i$tK),  1891. 

"...  I  have  received  your  letter  and  the  songs,  and 
played  through  the  latter.  I  have  nothing  new  to  add  to 
what  I  have  already  said  as  to  your  remarkable  creative 
gifts.  It  is  useless  to  lament  that  circumstances  have  not 
enabled  you  to  go  through  a  course  of  strict  counterpoint, 
which  you  specially  needed.  This  goes  without  saying. 
Your  resolve  to  confine  yourself  entirely  to  song-writing 
does  not  please  me.  A  true  artist,  even  if  he  possesses 
only  a  limited  creative  capacity,  which  hinders  him  from 
producing  great  works  in  certain  spheres  of  art,  should 
still  keep  the  highest  aim  in  view.  Neither  age,  nor  any 
other  obstacle,  should  check  his  ambition.  Why  should 
you  suppose  one  needs  less  than  a  complete  all-round 
technique  in  order  to  compose  a  perfect  song  ?  With 
an  imperfect  technique  you  may  limit  your  sphere  of  work 
as  much  as  you  please — you  will  never  get  beyond  an 
elegant  amateurism.  ...  I  dislike  the  system  of  putting 
the  date  of  composition  on  each  song.  What  is  the  use  of 
it  ?  What  does  it  matter  to  the  public  when  and  where  a 
work  was  composed  ?  " 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  667 

About  August  2Oth  Tchaikovsky  left  home  for  Kamenka, 
from  whence  he  went  on  to  stay  with  his  brother  Nicholas. 
Here  he  met  his  favourite  poet,  A.  Fet,  and  became  very 
friendly  with  him.  Fet  wrote  a  poem,  "To  Peter  Ilich 
Tchaikovsky,"  an  attention  which  touched  the  musician 
very  deeply.  At  the  end  of  August  he  returned  to  Mos- 
cow in  a  very  contented  frame  of  mind. 


XIV 

1891-1892 

Through  September,  and  the  greater  part  of  October, 
Tchaikovsky  remained  at  Maidanovo,  working  uninter- 
ruptedly upon  the  opera  lolanthe  and  the  orchestration  of 
The  Voyevode.  The  work  went  easily,  and  his  health  was 
good.  The  evenings,  which  during  the  last  years  of  his 
life  brought  home  to  him  a  sense  of  his  loneliness,  were 
enlivened  by  the  presence  of  Laroche,  who  was  staying  in 
the  house.  The  friends  played  arrangements  for  four 
hands,  or  Laroche  read  aloud.  Everything  seemed  so 
ordered  as  to  leave  no  room  for  dissatisfaction  with  his  lot ; 
and  yet  his  former  contentment  with  his  surroundings  had 
vanished. 

The  theft  of  his  clock  was  still  a  matter  of  anxiety. 
He  might  have  partially  forgotten  it,  had  not  the  police 
announced  the  capture  of  the  criminal.  "  I  am  living 
in  the  atmosphere  of  one  of  Gaboriau's  novels,"  he  wrote 
to  his  brother.  "  The  police  have  caught  the  criminal,  and 
he  has  confessed.  But  nothing  will  induce  him  to  reveal 
where  he  has  hidden  the  clock.  To-day  he  was  brought 
to  me  in  the  hopes  that  I  might  persuade  him  to  tell  the 
truth.  .  .  .  He  said  he  would  confess  all,  if  he  was  left 
alone  with  me.  We  went  into  the  next  room.  There 
he  flung  himself  at  my  feet  and  implored  forgiveness.  Of 


668  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

course  I  forgave  him,  and  only  begged  him  to  say  where 
the  clock  was.  Then  he  became  very  quiet  and  afterwards 
declared  he  had  never  stolen  it  at  all !  ...  You  can 
imagine  how  all  this  has  upset  me,  and  how  it  has  set 
me  against  Maidanovo." 

Another  cause  of  his  passing  discontent  was  wounded 
pride.  So  far  he  believed  himself  to  have  scored  a  great 
success  in  America  ;  he  was  convinced  that  his  return  was 
anxiously  waited,  and  that  his  popularity  had  greatly 
increased.  One  day,  however,  he  received  a  letter  from 
Morris  Reno,  who  had  originally  engaged  him,  offering 
him  a  three  months'  tour  with  twenty  concerts  at  a  fee 
of  4,000  dollars.  Seeing  that  on  the  first  occasion  he  had 
received  2,400  dollars  for  four  concerts,  Tchaikovsky  im- 
mediately concluded  that  he  had  greatly  overrated  the 
importance  of  his  previous  visit,  and  was  deeply  mortified 
in  consequence.  He  telegraphed  in  reply  to  Reno  two 
words  only  :  "  Non.  Tchaikovsky."  Afterwards  he  came 
to  recognise  that  there  was  nothing  offensive  in  the  pro- 
posal made  to  him,  and  that  it  in  no  way  denoted  any 
falling  off  in  the  appreciation  of  the  Americans.  But  the 
desire  to  return  was  no  longer  so  keen  ;  only  a  very 
substantial  pecuniary  advantage  would  have  induced  him 
to  undertake  the  voyage. 

Finally,  he  had  another  reason  for  feeling  somewhat 
depressed  at  this  moment.  The  will  which  he  made  in  the 
month  of  September  involuntarily  caused  him  to  think  of 
that  "flat-nosed  horror,"  which  was  sometimes  his  equivalent 
for  death.  He  had  hitherto  been  under  the  impression 
that  the  law  which  existed  before  the  accession  of  Alex- 
ander III.  was  still  in  force,  and  that  at  his  death  all  his 
rights  in  his  operas  would  pass  into  the  hands  of  the 
Theatrical  Direction.  The  discovery  that  he  had  more 
than  a  life  interest  in  them  was  the  reason  for  making 
a  will.  It  proves  how  much  attention  Tchaikovsky  must 
have  given  to  his  contracts  for  Eugene  Oniegin>  Mazeppa> 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  669 

and  the  later  operas  before  signing  them,  since  the  clause 
relating  to  his  hereditary  rights  was  prominent  in  them  all. 
When  his  brother  Modeste  called  his  attention  to  the  fact, 
he  would  not  believe  him  until  he  had  inquired  from  the 
Direction,  when  he  found  himself  agreeably  mistaken. 
He  was  always  anxious  as  to  the  fate  of  certain  people 
whom  he  suppported  during  his  lifetime,  and  was  thankful 
to  feel  that  this  assistance  would  be  continued  after  his 
death. 

The  number  of  those  he  assisted  continually  increased. 
"  I  was  the  most  expensive  pensioner,"  says  Modeste  Tchai- 
kovsky, "  for  he  allowed  me  about  two  thousand  roubles  a 
year."  But  he  always  met  every  request  for  money  half- 
way. Here  are  a  few  specimens  of  his  generosity,  quoted 
from  letters  to  Jurgenson  and  others  : — 

"  DEAR  FRIEND, — I  want  to  help  X.  in  some  way.  You 
are  selling  the  tickets  for  his  concert.  Should  they  go 
badly,  take  fifteen  or  twenty  places  on  my  behalf  and  give 
them  to  whomsoever  you  please.  Of  course,  X.  must  know 
nothing  about  it." 

"  If  you  are  in  pecuniary  difficulties,"  he  wrote  to  Y., 
"  come  to  your  sincere  friend  (myself),  who  now  earns  so 
much  from  his  operas  and  will  be  delighted  to  help  you. 
I  promise  not  a  soul  shall  hear  of  it ;  but  it  will  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me." 

"  Please  write  at  once  to  K.,  that  he  is  to  send  Y.  twenty- 
five  roubles  a  month.  He  may  pay  him  three  months  in 
advance." 

There  would  be  no  difficulty  in  multiplying  such  in- 
stances. Not  only  his  neighbour's  need,  but  the  mere 
whim  of  another  person,  awoke  in  Tchaikovsky  the  desire 
of  fulfilment.  He  always  wished  to  give  all  and  receive 
nothing.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  there  were 
occasionally  periods — as  in  September  and  October,  1891 


670  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

— when  he  found  himself  penniless  and  felt  the  shortness 
of  funds,  chiefly  because  he  was  unable  to  help  others. 

His  correspondence  with  concert  agents,  publishers  and 
all  kinds  of  applicants  had  become  a  great  burden  to  him 
in  those  days. 

All  these  things  conduced  to  that  mood  of  melancholy 
which  is  reflected  in  the  letters  written  at  this  time. 

At  the  end  of  October  he  went  to  Moscow,  to  be  present 
at  the  first  performance  of  Pique  Dame,  and  to  conduct 
Siloti's  concert,  at  which  his  Symphonic  Fantasia,  The 
Voyevode,  was  brought  out. 

To  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich. 

"Moscow,  October  $ist  (November  i2tti),  1891. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  say  how  deeply  your  precious  lines 
touched  and  delighted  me.  Naturally  I  felt  in  my  heart 
of  hearts  that  you  had  not  forgotten  me — but  it  is  pleasant 
to  have  some  clear  evidence  that  amid  all  your  varied  and 
complicated  occupations,  and  while  under  the  impression 
of  a  profound  family  sorrow,  you  still  found  time  to  think 
of  me. 

"  I  was  very  pleased  to  make  Fet's  acquaintance.  From 
his  *  Reminiscences,'  which  were  published  in  the  Russky 
Viestnik,  I  fancied  it  would  not  be  very  interesting  to 
converse  with  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  most  agreeable 
company,  full  of  humour  and  originality.  If  your  High- 
ness only  knew  how  enchanting  his  summer  residence  is ! 
The  house  and  park — what  a  cosy  retreat  for  a  poet  in 
his  old  age !  Unluckily,  as  his  wife  complained  to  me, 
the  poet  does  not  enjoy  life  in  these  poetical  surroundings 
at  all.  He  sits  at  home  all  day,  dictating  verses,  or  his 
translation  of  Martial,  to  his  lady  secretary.  He  read  me 
many  new  poems,  and  I  was  surprised  at  the  freshness 
and  youthfulness  of  his  inspiration.  We  both  regretted 
your  Highness  could  not  devote  yourself  entirely  to 
poetry.  If  only  you  could  repose  in  summer  in  just  such 
a  solitary  spot !  But,  alas  !  it  is  not  possible.  .  .  . 

"  When  I  have  finished  my  opera  and  ballet  I  shall  give 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  671 

up  that  kind  of  work  for  a  time  and  devote  myself  to 
Symphony.  ...  I  often  think  it  is  time  to  shut  up  shop. 
A  composer  who  has  won  success  and  recognition  stands 
in  the  way  of  younger  men  who  want  to  be  heard.  Time 
was  when  no  one  wanted  to  listen  to  my  music,  and  if  the 
Grand  Duke,  your  father,  had  not  been  my  patron,  not 
one  of  my  operas  would  ever  have  been  performed.  Now 
I  am  spoilt  and  encouraged  in  every  way.  It  is  very 
pleasant,  but  I  am  often  tormented  by  the  thought  that  I 
ought  to  make  room  for  others." 

The  first  performance  of  Pique  Dame  in  Moscow  took 
place  on  November  4th  (i6th),  1891,  under  Altani's  baton. 
It  was  merely  a  fair  copy  of  the  Petersburg  performance, 
and  presented  no  "  special "  qualities  as  regards  musical 
rendering  or  scenery. 

The  opera  met  with  a  warmer  and  more  genuine 
welcome  than  in  the  northern  capital.  Nevertheless  the 
Press  was  not  very  pleased  with  the  music.  The  Moscow 
Viedomosti  thought  "  Tchaikovsky  possessed  a  remarkable 
talent  for  imitation,  sometimes  going  so  far  as  to  borrow 
wholesale  from  the  older  masters,  as  in  his-  Suite 
Mozartiana"  Another  newspaper  considered  the  opera 
"more  pleasing  than  inspired."  The  only  serious  and 
intelligent  criticism  of  the  work  appeared  in  the  Russky 
Viedomosti)  from  Kashkin's  pen. 

Siloti's  concert,  two  days  later,  was  marked  by  one  of 
the  most  painful  episodes  in  the  composer's  career.  Kash- 
kin,  in  his  'Reminiscences,'  says  that,  even  at  the  rehearsals, 
Tchaikovsky  had  shown  a  kind  of  careless  indifference  in 
conducting  his  latest  orchestral  work,  the  Symphonic 
Ballade,  The  Voyevode.  After  the  rehearsal  he  asked 
several  people  for  their  opinion  upon  the  work,  among 
others  Taneiev,  who  seems  to  have  replied  that  the  chief 
movement  of  the  Ballade — the  love  episode — was  not 
equal  to  similar  episodes  in  The  Tempest,  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  or  Francesca.  Moreover,  he  considered  that 


672  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tchaikovsky  had  treated  it  wrongly,  and  that  Poushkin's 
words  could  be  sung  to  this  melody,  so  that  it  was  more  in 
the  style  of  a  vocal  than  an  orchestral  work. 

At  the  concert  The  Voyevode  made  little  impression, 
notwithstanding  the  enthusiastic  reception  given  to  the 
composer.  This  was  due  to  some  extent  to  Tchaikovsky's 
careless  rendering  of  the  work. 

Siloti  relates  that  during  the  interval  the  composer  came 
into  the  artists'  room  and  tore  his  score  to  pieces,  exclaim- 
ing :  "  Such  rubbish  should  never  have  been  written."  To 
tear  a  thick  score  in  pieces  is  not  an  easy  feat,  and  possibly 
Siloti's  memory  may  have  been  at  fault.  It  is  more 
probable  that  Tchaikovsky  wished  to  destroy  the  score 
on  the  spot  than  that  he  actually  did  so.  Besides,  he  him- 
self wrote  to  V.  Napravnik :  "  The  Voyevode  turned  out 
such  wretched  stuff  that  I  tore  it  up  the  day  after  the 
concert." 

Siloti  carefully  concealed  the  parts  of  The  Voyevode,  so 
that  after  Tchaikovsky's  death  the  score  was  restored  from 
these  and  published  by  M.  Belaiev,  of  Leipzig.  When  it 
was  given  for  the  first  time  in  Petersburg,  under  Nikisch,  it 
made  a  very  different  impression  upon  Taneiev,  and  he 
bitterly  regretted  his  hasty  verdict  delivered  in  1891. 

Tchaikovsky  remained  two  days  longer  in  Moscow,  in 
order  to  be  present  at  a  dinner  given  in  his  honour  by  the 
artists  who  had  taken  part  in  Pique  Dame,  and  returned 
to  Maidanovo  worn  out  with  the  excitement  he  had  ex- 
perienced. 

On  December  i/th  (29th)  he  started  upon  his  concert 
tour,  which  included  not  only  foreign,  but  Russian  towns. 
He  was  pledged  to  conduct  in  Kiev  and  Warsaw,  as  well 
as  at  the  Hague  and  in  Amsterdam,1  and  to  attend  the 
first  performance  of  Oniegin  in  Hamburg  and  of  Pique 
Dame  in  Prague. 

1  In  July  of  this  year  he  had  been  made  a  corresponding  member  of  the 
"  Maatschappij  tot  Bevorderung  van  Toonkunst." 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  673 

At  the  time  of  the  first  performance  of  Pique  Dame  in 
Kiev,  Tchaikovsky  had  become  intimately  acquainted 
with  Prianichnikov,  whose  services  to  art  he  valued  very 
highly.  Not  only  the  attitude  of  this  artist  towards  him, 
but  that  of  the  entire  opera  company,  had  touched  him 
very  deeply.  He  was  aware  that  the  affairs  of  this  com- 
pany— one  of  the  best  in  Russia — were  not  very  flourishing, 
and  he  wanted  to  show  his  sympathy  in  some  substantial 
form.  He  proposed,  therefore,  that  the  first  performance  of 
his  lolanthe  should  be  transferred  from  Petersburg  to  Kiev, 
provided  the  Imperial  Direction  made  no  objections  to 
the  plan.  Naturally  they  objected  very  strongly,  and 
Tchaikovsky,  by  way  of  compensation,  offered  to  conduct 
a  concert  for  the  benefit  of  Prianichnikov's  company.  The 
local  branch  of  the  Musical  Society,  which  had  made 
overtures  to  the  composer  on  several  occasions,  was 
offended  at  his  preference  for  the  artists  of  the  opera,  and 
immediately  engaged  him  for  a  concert  of  their  own.  In 
view  of  his  former  connection  with  the  Society,  Tchai- 
kovsky could  not  refuse  this  offer.  Both  concerts  were 
a  great  success,  and  evoked  immense  enthusiasm  from  the 
public  and  the  Press. 

From  Kiev  he  went  to  Kamenka  for  a  few  days,  but 
a  feeling  of  sadness  came  over  him  at  the  sight  of  his  old 
dwelling-place,  so  inseparably  connected  with  the  memory 
of  the  sister  he  had  lost 

...  At  Warsaw,  where  he  arrived  on  December  29th 
(January  loth),  he  was  overcome  with  that  terrible,  de- 
spairing nostalgia,  which,  towards  the  close  of  his  life, 
accompanied  him  like  some  sinister  travelling  companion 
whenever  he  left  Russia.  "  I  am  counting — just  as  last 
year — the  days,  hours,  and  minutes  till  my  journey  is  over," 
he  wrote  to  Vladimir  Davidov.  "You  are  constantly  in 
my  thoughts,  for  at  every  access  of  agitation  and  home- 
sickness, whenever  my  spiritual  horizon  grows  dark,  the 
thought  that  you  are  there,  that  I  shall  see  you  sooner  or 

2    X 


674  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

later,  flashes  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  across  my  mind.  I  am 
not  exaggerating,  upon  my  honour !  Every  moment  this 
sun-ray  keeps  breaking  forth  in  these  or  similar  words: 
"Yes,  it  is  bad,  but  never  mind,  Bob  lives  in  the  world"  ; 
"Far  away  in  'Peter'1  sits  Bob,  drudging  at  his  work"; 
"  In  a  month's  time  I  shall  see  Bob  again." 

To  N.  Konradi. 
"WARSAW,  December  31  st  {January  12 f A). 

"  I  have  been  three  days  in  Warsaw.  I  do  not  find  this 
town  as  agreeable  as  many  others.  It  is  better  in  summer. 
The  rehearsals  are  in  progress,  but  the  orchestra  here  is 
worse  than  second-rate.  I  spend  my  time  with  my  former 
pupil,  the  celebrated  violinist  Barcewicz,  and  with  the 
Friede2  family.  I  shall  stay  here  over  the  New  Year. 
In  the  evening  I  generally  go  to  the  theatre.  The  opera 
is  not  bad  here.  Yesterday  I  saw  the  famous  Cavalleria 
Rusticana.  This  opera  is  really  very  remarkable,  chiefly 
for  its  successful  subject.  Perhaps  Modi  could  find  a 
similar  libretto.  Oh,  when  will  the  glad  day  of  return  be 
here!" 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  WARSAW,  January  yd  (i$th)t  1892. 

"...  I  have  only  time  for  a  few  lines.  Yesterday  my 
concert  took  place  in  the  Opera  House,  and  went  off 
brilliantly  in  every  respect.  The  orchestra,  which  took 
a  great  liking  to  me,  played  admirably.  Barcewicz  played 
my  Concerto  with  unusual  spirit,  and  Friede3  sang  beauti- 
fully. The  day  before  yesterday  Grossmann4  arranged 
a  grand  soiree  in  my  honour.  The  Polish  countesses  were 
fascinatingly  amiable  to  me.  I  have  been  feted  every- 
where. Gurko5  is  the  only  person  who  has  not  shown  me 

Diminutive  of  Petersburg. 
A.  Friede,  General  of  Infantry. 

Daughter  of  General  A.  Friede  and  a  prima  donna  at  the  Maryinsky 
Theatre,  St.  Petersburg. 

The  representative  of  the  firm  of  Bechstein. 
The  celebrated  general. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  675 

the  least  attention.  .  .  .  Three  weeks  hence  I  go  to  Ham- 
burg. I  shall  conduct  Oniegin  there  myself;  Pollini  has 
made  a  point  of  it." 

To  A.  Merkling. 

"  BERLIN,  January  tfh  (i6M),  1892. 

" .  .  .  At  Grossman's  grand  evening  I  observed  that  the 
Polish  ladies  (many  very  aristocratic  women  were  there) 
are  amiable,  cultivated,  interesting,  and  sympathetic.  The 
farewell  at  the  station  yesterday  was  very  magnificent. 
There  is  some  talk  of  giving  one  of  my  operas  in  Polish 
next  season.  I  am  spending  a  day  in  Berlin  to  recover 
from  the  exciting  existence  in  Warsaw.  To-morrow  I 
leave  for  Hamburg,  where  I  conduct  Oniegin  on  January 
7th  (iQth).  On  the  29th  (February  loth)  my  concert  takes 
place  in  Amsterdam,  and  on  the  3Oth  (February  nth),  at 
the  Hague.  After  that — full  steam  homewards.  I  can 
only  look  forward  with  fearful  excitement  and  impatience 
to  the  blessed  day  when  I  shall  return  to  my  adored 
Mother  Russia." 

Tchaikovsky  arrived  in  Hamburg  to  find  Oniegin  had 
been  well  studied,  and  the  preparations  for  its  staging 
satisfactory  on  the  whole.  "  The  conductor  here,"  he  wrote 
to  his  favourite  nephew,  "is  not  merely  passable,  but 
actually  has  genius,  and  he  ardently  desires  to  conduct  the 
first  performance.  Yesterday  I  heard  a  wonderful  render- 
ing of  Tannhduser  under  his  direction.  The  singers,  the 
orchestra,  Pollini,  the  managers,  and  the  conductor — his 
name  is  Mahler 1 — are  all  in  love  with  Oniegin  ;  but  I  am 
very  doubtful  whether  the  Hamburg  public  will  share  their 
enthusiasm."  Tchaikovsky's  doubts  as  to  the  success  of 
Eugene  Oniegin  were  well  founded.  The  opera  was  not 
much  applauded. 

1  Gustav  Mahler,  afterwards  conductor  at  the  Vienna  Opera,  also  pro- 
duced Eugene  Oniegin  and  lolanthe  in  the  Austrian  capital. 


676  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

To    Vladimir  Davidov. 

"PARIS,  January  \2th  (24?%),  1892. 

"...  I  am  in  a  very  awkward  position.  I  have  a 
fortnight  in  prospect  during  which  I  do  not  know  how  to 
kill  time.  I  thought  this  would  be  easier  in  Paris  than 
anywhere  else — but  it  was  only  on  the  first  day  that  I  did 
not  feel  bored.  Since  yesterday  I  have  been  wondering 
how  I  could  save  myself  from  idleness  and  ennui.  If 
Sapellnikov  and  Menter  would  not  be  offended  at  my  not 
going  to  Holland,  how  gladly  I  should  start  homewards ! 
If  the  Silotis  had  not  been  here,  I  do  not  think  I  could 
have  stayed.  Yesterday  I  was  at  the  *  Folies-Bergeres/ 
and  it  bored  me  terribly.  The  Russian  clown  Durov 
brings  on  250  dressed-up  rats.  It  is  most  curious  in  what 
forms  the  Parisians  display  their  Russophile  propensities. 
Neither  at  the  Opera,  nor  at  any  of  the  more  serious 
theatres,  is  anything  Russian  performed,  and  while  we 
are  giving  Esclarmonde,  they  show  their  goodwill  towards 
Russian  art  by  the  medium  of  Durov  and  his  rats  !  Truly, 
it  enrages  me — I  say  it  frankly — partly  on  account  of  my 
own  interests.  Why  cannot  Colonne,  who  is  now  the  head 
of  the  Opera,  give  my  Pique  Dame^  or  my  new  Ballet  ?  In 
autumn  he  spoke  of  doing  so,  and  engaged  Petipa  with  a 
view  to  this.  But  it  was  all  empty  talk.  .  .  .  You  will 
say  :  '  Are  you  not  ashamed  to  be  so  envious  and  small- 
minded  ? '  I  am  ashamed.  Having  nothing  to  do,  I  am 
reading  Zola's  La  bete  humaine.  I  cannot  understand 
how  people  can  seriously  accept  Zola  as  a  great  writer. 
Could  there  be  anything  more  false  and  improbable  than 
the  leading  idea  of  this  novel  ?  Of  course,  there  are  parts 
in  which  the  truth  is  set  forth  with  realism  and  vitality. 
But,  in  the  main,  it  is  so  artificial  that  one  never  for  a 
moment  feels  any  sympathy  with  the  actions  or  sufferings 
of  the  characters.  It  is  simply  a  story  of  crime  a  la 
Gaboriau,  larded  with  obscenities." 

His  increasing  nostalgia  and  depression  of  spirits  finally 
caused  Tchaikovsky  to  abandon  the  concerts  in  Holland 
and  return  to  Petersburg  about  the  end  of  January.  There 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  677 

he   spent   a   week  with   his   relatives,  and  went  back  to 
Maidanovo  on  the  28th  (February  pth). 

While  in  Paris,  Tchaikovsky  completed  the  revision  of 
his  Sextet,  and  on  his  return  to  Russia  devoted  himself  to 
the  orchestration  of  the  Nut-cracker  Ballet.  He  was  in 
haste  to  finish  those  numbers  from  this  work,  which,  in  the 
form  of  a  Suite,  were  to  be  played  in  St.  Petersburg  on 
March  ;th  (iQth),  instead  of  the  ill-fated  ballade,  The 
Voyevode. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 
"MAIDANOVO,  February  ^th  (21^),  1892. 

"  I  am  living  very  pleasantly  here  and  enjoying  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  winter  months.  I  love  these 
clear,  rather  frosty  days,  when  the  sun  sometimes  begins 
to  feel  quite  warm.  They  bring  a  feeling  of  spring.  .  .  . 
Volodya  Napravnik  is  staying  with  me  just  now,  and  has 
turned  out  to  be  excellent  company.  He  is  very  musical, 
and  that  is  a  great  pleasure.  I  often  play  pianoforte  duets 
with  him  in  the  evening,  or  simply  listen  while  he  plays 
my  favourite  pieces.  I  have  taken  a  house  at  Klin  which 
will  be  my  future  home.  .  .  .  Later  on  I  may  buy  it. 
Thank  God,  my  financial  position  is  excellent.  Pique  Dame 
was  given  nineteen  times  in  Moscow,  and  the  house  was 
always  sold  out.  Besides,  there  are  the  other  operas. 
There  is  a  good  deal  due  to  me  from  Petersburg." 

Late  in  February  Tchaikovsky  went  to  St.  Petersburg 
for  a  short  visit.  Here  he  received  news  which  made  a 
startling  impression  upon  him.  He  had  long  believed 
his  old  governess  Fanny  to  be  dead.  Suddenly  he  was 
informed  that  not  only  was  she  still  alive,  but  had  se^t 
him  her  greetings.  The  first  effect  of  these  glad  tidings 
came  upon  him  as  a  kind  of  shock.  In  his  own  words, 
"  he  felt  as  though  he  had  been  told  that  his  mother  had 
risen  from  the  dead,  that  the  last  forty-three  years  of 
existence  were  nothing  but  a  dream,  and  that  he  had 


678  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

awakened  to  find  himself  in  the  upstairs  rooms  of  the 
house  at  Votinsk."  He  dreaded,  too,  lest  his  dear  teacher 
should  now  be  only  the  shadow  of  her  old  self,  a  feeble 
and  senile  creature  to  whom  death  would  be  a  boon. 
Nevertheless,  he  wrote  to  her  at  once,  a  kindly  letter  in 
which  he  asked  if  he  could  serve  her  in  any  way,  and 
enclosed  his  photograph.  Her  reply,  written  in  a  firm 
handwriting,  in  which  he  recognised  her  old  clearness  of 
style,  and  the  absence  of  all  complaint,  greatly  assured 
him.  Thus,  between  teacher  and  pupil  the  old  affectionate 
relations  were  again  renewed. 

At  the  Symphony  Concert  of  the  Musical  Society,  on 
March  7th  (iQth),  Tchaikovsky  conducted  his  Romeo  and 
Juliet  Overture  and  the  Nut-cracker  Suite.  The  new  work 
must  have  had  an  unprecedented  success,  since  five  out  of 
the  six  movements  had  to  be  repeated. 

At  a  concert  given  by  the  School  of  Jurisprudence,  on 
March  3rd  (iSth),  the  composer  had  the  honour  of  being 
introduced  to  the  Tsarevich,  now  the  reigning  Emperor  of 
Russia. 

He  returned  to  Maidanovo  on  March  9th. 

To  f.  Konius. 

" March  <)th  (2ist\  1892. 

"  In  Petersburg  I  heard  a  very  interesting  violinist 
named  (Cesar)  Thomson.  Do  you  know  him  ?  He  has  a 
most  remarkable  technique  ;  for  instance,  he  plays  passages 
of  octaves  with  a  rapidity  to  which  no  one  has  previously 
attained.  I  am  telling  you  this  on  the  assumption  that 
you,  too,  will  attempt  this  artistic  feat.  It  makes  a 
tremendous  effect." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"March  \%th  (30^),  1892. 

"...  I  have  no  recollection  of  having  promised  you 
that  I  would  never  give  away  any  of  my  manuscripts. 
I  should  have  been  very  unwilling  to  make  any  such 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  679 

promise,  because  there  are  cases  in  which  I  could  only  be 
very  pleased  to  present  one  of  my  scores  to  the  Opera 
Direction — or  in  a  similar  instance.1  .  .  .  Your  reproach 
that  I  give  them  away  '  right  and  left '  is  without  founda- 
tion. The  Opera  Direction,  to  which  I  owe  my  prosperity, 
is  surely  worthy  to  possess  one  of  my  scores  in  its  superb 
library;  and  the  same  applies  to  the  Russian  Musical 
Society,  from  which  originated  the  Conservatoire  where  I 
studied,  and  where  I  was  invariably  treated  with  kindness 
and  indulgence.  If  you  are  really  going  to  make  it  a  sine 
qud  non  that  all  my  manuscripts  must  be  your  property,  we 
must  discuss  the  question  .  .  .  and  should  you  convince 
me  that  your  interests  really  suffer  through  the  presenta- 
tion of  my  scores,  I  will  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  I  have 
so  rarely  deprived  you  of  the  priceless  joy  of  possessing 
my  autograph  scrawls !  You  have  so  many  to  the  good  ! 
I  cannot  understand  why  you  should  be  so  annoyed ! " 

At  the  end  of  March  Tchaikovsky  spent  a  week  with 
his  relatives  in  Petersburg — now  a  very  reduced  circle — 
and  afterwards  went  to  Moscow.  During  the  month 
Tchaikovsky  spent  in  this  city  Alexis  moved  all  his 
master's  belongings  from  Maidanovo  to  the  new  house 
at  Klin. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 
"  Moscow,  April  2$rd  (May  5^),  1892. 

"  Moscow  is  unbearable,  for  there  is  scarcely  a  human 
being  who  does  not  bother  me  with  visits  or  invitations ; 
or  ask  me  to  look  at  an  opera  or  songs,  or — most  un- 
pleasant of  all — try  to  get  money  out  of  me  in  one  form  or 
another.  I  shall  look  back  upon  this  month  spent  in 
Moscow  as  upon  a  horrid  nightmare.  So  far,  I  have  con- 
ducted Faust  and  Rubinstein's  Demon  ;  Oniegin  has  yet 
to  come.2  But  what  are  all  these  small  inconveniences 

1  Tchaikovsky  presented  several  autograph  scores  to  the  Imperial  Public 
Library,  Petersburg. 

2  Tchaikovsky  was  conducting  for  the  benefit  of  Prianichnikov  and  the 
Kiev  Opera  Company,  then  in  Moscow. 


680  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

compared  to  what  you  have  to  do  ? l  I  have  read  your  last 
letter  with  the  greatest  interest,  and  felt  glad  for  your  sake 
that  you  have  such  a  fine  opportunity  of  helping  your 
fellow-creatures.  I  am  sure  that  you  will  always  cherish 
the  memory  of  your  mission  to  the  famine-stricken 
Siberians." 


XV 

After  the  month's  uncongenial  work  in  Moscow,  Tchai- 
kovsky rested  a  few  days  in  Petersburg,  until  Alexis  had 
everything  ready  for  him  in  the  new  home — which  was 
destined  to  be  his  last.  The  house  at  Klin  stood  at  the 
furthest  end  of  the  little  town,  and  was  completely  sur- 
rounded by  fields  and  woods ;  two-storied  and  very 
roomy.  It  particularly  pleased  Tchaikovsky,  because — 
quite  an  unusual  thing  in  a  small  country  house  in  Russia 
— the  upper  rooms  were  large,  and  could  be  turned  into 
an  excellent  bedroom  and  study  for  a  guest.  This  was 
perhaps  the  only  improvement  upon  Maidanovo  and 
Frolovskoe.  A  small  garden,  the  usual  outlook  across  the 
country,  the  neighbourhood  of  endless  kitchen-gardens  on 
the  one  hand,  and  of  the  high-road  to  Moscow  on  the 
other,  deprived  the  spot  of  all  poetic  beauty,  and  only 
Tchaikovsky,  with  his  very  modest  demands  for  comfort 
or  luxury,  could  have  been  quite  satisfied — even  enthusi- 
astic— about  the  place. 

After  the  composer's  death,  this  house  was  purchased 
by  his  servant,  Alexis  Safronov,  who  sold  it  in  1897  to 
Modeste  Tchaikovsky  and  his  nephew,  Vladimir  Davidov. 
At  the  present  moment — in  so  far  as  possible — every 
relic,  and  all  documents  connected  with  the  composer,  are 
preserved  in  the  house. 

1  Anatol  was  one  of  the  nine  commissioners  chosen  by  the  Tsarevich  to 
inquire  into  the  failure  of  the  crops  and  the  sufferings  of  the  starving 
peasants  in  Siberia. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  68 1 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KLIN,  May  2oth  (June  ist),  1892. 

"  I  have  spent  so  much  money  lately  (of  course  not  upon 
myself  alone)  that  all  my  hopes  of  laying  aside  something 
for  George1  have  vanished." 

To  Eugen  Zabel. 
"KLIN,  NEAR  Moscow,  May  2tfh  (June  $th\  1892. 

"  I  have  just  received  your  esteemed  letter,  and  feel  it  a 
pleasant  duty  to  send  you  an  immediate  answer,  but  as  I 
write  German  very  badly  I  must  have  recourse  to  French. 
I  doubt  if  you  will  find  anything  new,  interesting,  or  of 
any  value  for  your  biography  in  the  following  lines ;  but 
I  promise  to  say  quite  frankly  all  that  I  know  and  feel 
about  Rubinstein. 

"  It  was  in  1858  that  I  heard  the  name  of  Anton  Rubin- 
stein for  the  first  time.  I  was  then  eighteen,  and  I  had 
just  entered  the  higher  class  of  the  School  of  Jurispru- 
dence, and  only  took  up  music  as  an  amateur.  For  several 
years  I  had  taken  lessons  on  Sundays  from  a  very  dis- 
tinguished pianist,  M.  Rodolphe  Kundinger.  In  those 
days,  never  having  heard  any  other  virtuoso  than  my 
teacher,  I  believed  him,  in  all  sincerity,  to  be  the  greatest 
in  the  world.  One  day  Kundinger  came  to  the  lesson  in  a 
very  absent-minded  mood,  and  paid  little  attention  to 
the  scales  and  exercises  I  was  playing.  When  I  asked 
this  admirable  man  and  artist  what  was  the  matter,  he 
replied  that,  the  day  before,  he  had  heard  the  pianist 
Rubinstein,  just  come  from  abroad  ;  this  man  had  im- 
pressed him  so  profoundly  that  he  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  experience,  and  everything  in  the  way  of  virtu- 
osity now  seemed  to  him  so  poor  that  it  was  as  unbear- 
able to  listen  to  my  scales  as  to  hear  himself  play  the 
piano. 

"  I  knew  what  a  noble  and  sincere  nature  Kundinger 
possessed.  I  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  taste  and 
knowledge — and  this  caused  his  words  to  excite  my 

1  George,  the  son  of  Nicholas  Tchaikovsky,  to  whom  the  composer  left 
his  real  estate  and  a  life  annuity  of  1,200  roubles  per  annum. 


682  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

imagination  and  my  curiosity  in  the  highest  degree.  In 
the  course  of  my  scholastic  year  I  had  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  Rubinstein — and  not  only  of  hearing  him,  but  of 
seeing  him  play  and  conduct.  I  lay  stress  upon  this  first 
visual  impression,  because  it  is  my  profound  conviction 
that  Rubinstein's  prestige  is  based  not  only  upon  his  rare 
talent,  but  also  upon  an  irresistible  charm  which  emanates 
from  his  whole  personality ;  so  that  it  is  not  sufficient  to  hear 
him  in  order  to  gain  a  full  impression — one  must  see  him 
too.  I  heard  and  saw  him.  Like  everyone  else,  I  fell 
under  the  spell  of  his  charm.  All  the  same,  I  finished  my 
studies,  entered  the  Government  service,  and  continued  to 
amuse  myself  with  a  little  music  in  my  leisure  hours.  But 
gradually  my  true  vocation  made  itself  felt.  I  will  spare 
you  details  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  subject,  but 
I  must  tell  you  that  about  the  time  of  the  foundation  of 
the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatoire,  in  September,  1862,  I 
was  no  longer  a  clerk  in  the  Ministry  of  Justice,  but  a 
young  man  resolved  to  devote  himself  to  music,  and  ready 
to  face  all  the  difficulties  which  were  predicted  by  my 
relatives,  who  were  displeased  that  I  should  voluntarily 
abandon  a  career  in  which  I  had  made  a  good  start.  I 
entered  the  Conservatoire.  My  professors  were  :  Zaremba 
for  counterpoint  and  fugue,  etc.,  Anton  Rubinstein 
(Director)  for  form  and  instrumentation.  I  remained  three 
and  a  half  years  at  the  Conservatoire,  and  during  this 
time  I  saw  Rubinstein  daily,  and  sometimes  several  times 
a  day,  except  during  the  vacations.  When  I  joined  the 
Conservatoire  I  was — as  I  have  already  told  you — an  en- 
thusiastic worshipper  of  Rubinstein.  But  when  I  knew 
him  better,  when  I  became  his  pupil  and  we  entered  into 
daily  relations  with  each  other,  my  enthusiasm  for  his 
personality  became  even  greater.  In  him  I  adored  not 
only  a  great  pianist  and  composer,  but  a  man  of  rare 
nobility,  frank,  loyal,  generous,  incapable  of  petty  and 
vulgar  sentiments,  clear  and  right-minded,  of  infinite  good- 
ness— in  fact,  a  man  who  towered  far  above  the  common 
herd.  As  a  teacher,  he  was  of  incomparable  value.  He 
went  to  work  simply,  without  grand  phrases  or  long  dis- 
sertations ;  but  always  taking  his  duty  seriously.  He  was 
only  once  angry  with  me.  After  the  holidays  I  took  him 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  683 

an  overture  entitled  'The  Storm/  in  which  I  had  been 
guilty  of  all  kinds  of  whims  of  form  and  orchestration. 
He  was  hurt,  and  said  that  it  was  not  for  the  development 
of  imbeciles  that  he  took  the  trouble  to  teach  the  art  of 
composition.  I  left  the  Conservatoire  full  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  for  my  professor. 

"  For  over  three  years  I  saw  him  daily.  But  .what  were 
our  relations  ?  He  was  a  great  and  illustrious  musician — 
I  a  humble  pupil,  who  only  saw  him  fulfilling  his  duties, 
and  had  no  idea  of  his  intimate  life.  A  great  gulf  lay 
between  us.  When  I  left  the  Conservatoire  I  hoped  that 
by  working  courageously,  and  gradually  making  my  way, 
I  might  look  forward  to  the  happiness  of  seeing  this  gulf 
bridged  over.  I  dared  to  aspire  to  the  honour  of  becoming 
the  friend  of  Rubinstein. 

"It  was  not  to  be.  Nearly  thirty  years  have  passed 
since  then,  but  the  gulf  is  deeper  and  wider  than  before. 
Through  my  professorship  in  Moscow  I  came  to  be  the 
intimate  friend  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein ;  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  Anton  from  time  to  time ;  I  have  always  con- 
tinued to  care  for  him  intensely,  and  to  regard  him  as  the 
greatest  of  artists  and  the  noblest  of  men,  but  1  never 
became,  and  never  shall  become,  his  friend.  This  great 
luminary  revolves  always  in  my  heaven,  but  while  I  see 
its  light  I  feel  its  remoteness  more  and  more. 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  explain  the  reason  for  this. 
I  think,  however,  that  my  amour propre  as  a  composer  has 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  In  my  youth  I  was  very  im- 
patient to  make  my  way,  to  win  a  name  and  reputation 
as  a  gifted  composer,  and  I  hoped  that  Rubinstein — who 
already  enjoyed  a  high  position  in  the  musical  world — 
would  help  me  in  my  chase  for  fame.  But  painful  as  it  is, 
I  must  confess  that  he  did  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  to 
forward  my  plans  or  assists  my  projects.  Certainly  he 
never  injured  me — he  is  too  noble  and  generous  to  put 
a  spoke  in  the  wheel  of  a  comrade — but  he  never  departed 
from  his  attitude  of  reserve  and  kindly  indifference 
towards  me.  This  has  always  been  a  profound  regret. 
The  most  probable  explanation  of  this  mortifying  luke- 
warmness  is  that  Rubinstein  does  not  care  for  my  music, 
that  my  musical  temperament  is  antipathetic  to  him.  Now 


684  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

I  still  see  him  from  time  to  time,  and  always  with  pleasure, 
for  this  extraordinary  man  has  only  to  hold  out  his  hand 
and  smile  for  us  to  fall  at  his  feet.  At  the  time  of  his 
jubilee  I  had  the  happiness  of  going  through  much 
trouble  and  fatigue  for  him  ;  his  attitude  to  me  is  always 
exceedingly  correct,  exceedingly  polite  and  kind — but  we 
live  very  much  apart,  and  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  his 
way  of  life,  his  views  and  aims — nothing,  in  fact,  that  could 
be  of  interest  to  the  future  readers  of  your  book. 

"I  have  never  received  letters  from  Rubinstein,  and 
never  wrote  to  him  but  twice  in  my  life,  to  thank  him  for 
having,  in  recent  years,  included,  among  other  Russian 
works  in  his  programmes,  one  or  two  of  my  own. 

"  I  have  made  a  point  of  fulfilling  your  wish  and  telling 
you  all  I  could  about  Rubinstein.  If  I  have  told  too 
little,  it  is  not  my  fault,  nor  that  of  Anton,  but  of  fatality. 

"  Forgive  my  blots  and  smudges.  To-morrow  I  have 
to  leave  home,  and  have  no  time  to  copy  this. 

"  Your  devoted 

"  P    T  " 

The  sole  object  of  the  journey  mentioned  in  this  letter 
was  to  take  a  cure  at  Vichy.  The  catarrh  of  the  stomach 
from  which  he  suffered  had  been  a  trouble  to  Tchaikovsky 
for  the  last  twenty  years.  Once,  while  staying  with 
Kondratiev  at  Nizy,  the  local  doctor  had  recommended 
him  natron  water.  From  that  time  he  could  not  exist 
without  it,  and  took  it  in  such  quantities  that  he  ended 
by  acquiring  a  kind  of  taste  for  it.  But  it  did  not  cure 
his  complaint,  which  grew  worse  and  worse,  so  that  in 
1876  he  had  to  undergo  a  course  of  mineral  waters.  The 
catarrhal  trouble  was  not  entirely  cured,  however,  but  re- 
turned at  intervals  with  more  or  less  intensity.  About 
the  end  of  the  eighties  his  condition  grew  worse.  Once 
during  the  rehearsals  for  Pique  Darne^  while  staying  at 
the  Hotel  Rossiya  in  St.  Petersburg,  he  sent  for  his  brother 
Modeste,  and  declared  he  "could  not  live  through  the 
night."  This  turned  his  thoughts  more  and  more  to  the 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  685 

"  hateful  but  health-giving  Vichy."  But  the  periods  of  rest 
after  his  various  tours,  and  of  work  in  his  "  hermit's  cave" 
at  Klin,  were  so  dear  to  him  that  until  1892  he  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  revisit  this  watering-place.  This 
year  he  only  decided  to  go  because  the  health  of  Vladimir 
Davidov  equally  demanded  a  cure  at  Vichy.  He  hoped 
in  this  congenial  company  to  escape  his  usual  home-sick- 
ness, and  that  it  might  even  prove  a  pleasure  to  take  his 
nephew  abroad. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  VICHY,  Jttne  \^th  (July  ist),  1892. 

"  We  have  been  here  a  week.  It  seems  more  like  seven 
months,  and  I  look  forward  with  horror  to  the  fortnight 
which  remains.  I  dislike  Vichy  as  much  as  I  did  sixteen 
years  ago,  but  I  think  the  waters  will  do  me  good.  In 
any  case  I  feel  sure  Bob  will  benefit  by  them." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"ViCHY,/#/y  \st(\$th),  1892. 

"  I  only  possess  one  short  note  from  Liszt,  which  is  of 
so  little  importance  that  it  is  not  worth  your  while  to  send 
it  to  La  Mara.  Liszt  was  a  good  fellow,  and  ready  to 
respond  to  everyone  who  paid  court  to  him.  But  as  I 
never  toadied  to  him,  or  any  other  celebrity,  we  never  got 
into  correspondence.  1  think  he  really  preferred  Messrs. 
Cui  and  Co.,  who  went  on  pilgrimages  to  Weimar,  and  he 
was  more  in  sympathy  with  their  music  than  with  mine. 
As  far  as  I  know,  Liszt  was  not  particularly  interested  in 
my  works." 

By  July  9th  (2ist)  Tchaikovsky  and  his  nephew  were 
back  in  Petersburg,  from  whence  he  travelled  almost 
immediately  to  Klin,  where  he  busied  himself  with  the 
new  Symphony  (No.  6)  which  he  wished  to  have  ready  in 
August. 

At  the  outset  of  his  career  Tchaikovsky  was  somewhat 
indifferent  as  to  the  manner  in  which  his  works  were 


686  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

published.  He  troubled  very  little  about  the  quality  of 
the  pianoforte  arrangements  of  his  operas  and  symphonic 
works,  and  still  less  about  printers'  errors.  About  the  end 
of  the  seventies,  however,  he  entirely  changed  his  attitude, 
and  henceforth  became  more  and  more  particular  and 
insistent  in  his  demands  respecting  the  pianoforte  arrange- 
ments and  correction  of  his  compositions.  Quite  half  his 
correspondence  with  Jurgenson  is  taken  up  with  these 
matters.  .  .  .  His  requirements  constantly  increased.  No 
one  could  entirely  satisfy  him.  The  cleverest  arrangers, 
such  as  Klindworth,  Taneiev,  and  Siloti  did  not  please 
him,  because  they  made  their  arrangements  too  difficult 
for  amateurs.  He  was  also  impatient  at  the  slowness 
with  which  they  worked. 

Now  that  for  a  year  and  a  half  Tchaikovsky  has  been 
in  his  grave,  it  is  easy  to  attribute  to  certain  events  in  his 
life  (which  passed  unnoticed  at  the  time)  a  kind  of 
prophetic  significance.  His  special  and  exclusive  care  as 
to  the  editing  and  publishing  of  his  works  in  1892  may, 
however,  be  compared  to  the  preparations  which  a  man 
makes  for  a  long  journey,  when  he  is  as  much  occupied 
with  what  lies  before  him  as  with  what  he  is  leaving 
behind.  He  strives  to  finish  what  is  unfinished,  and  to 
leave  all  in  such  a  condition  that  he  can  face  the  unknown 
with  a  quiet  conscience. 

The  words  Tchaikovsky  addressed  to  Jurgenson  with 
reference  to  the  Third  Suite — "  If  all  my  best  works  were 
published  in  this  style  I  might  depart  in  peace" — offer 
some  justification  for  my  simile. 

In  the  autumn  of  1892  he  undertook  the  entire  correc- 
tion of  the  orchestral  parts  of  lolanthe  and  the  Nut- 
cracker Ballet ;  the  improvements  and  corrections  of  the 
pianoforte  arrangement  (two  hands)  of  lolanthe ;  the 
corrections  of  the  pianoforte  score  of  the  Opera  and 
Ballet,  and  a  simplified  pianoforte  arrangement  of  the 
latter. 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  687 

Tchaikovsky  so  often  speaks  in  his  letters  of  his  dislike 
to  this  kind  of  work  that  he  must  have  needed  extra- 
ordinary self-abnegation  to  take  this  heavy  burden  upon 
his  shoulders. 

As  with  the  spirits  in  Dante's  Inferno,  the  dread  of 
their  torments  by  the  will  of  divine  justice  "si  volge  in 
disio"1  so  the  energy  with  which  Tchaikovsky  attacked  his 
task  turned  to  a  morbid,  passionate  excitement.  "  Cor- 
rections, corrections !  More,  more !  For  Heaven's  sake, 
corrections!"  he  cries  in  his  letters  to  Jurgenson,  so  that 
the  casual  reader  might  take  for  an  intense  desire  that 
which  was,  in  reality,  only  a  worry  to  him,  as  the  follow- 
ing letter  shows. 

To  S.  Taneiev. 

"KLIN,/«/F  13/^(25^),  1892. 

"Just  now  I  am  busy  looking  through  the  pianoforte 
score  of  lolanthe.  It  bothers  and  annoys  me  indescribably. 
Before  I  went  abroad  in  May  I  had  sketched  the  first 
movement  and  finale  of  a  Symphony.  Abroad  it  did  not 
progress  in  the  least,  and  now  I  have  no  time  for  it." 

To  Anna  Merkling. 

"KLIN,/«^  I7//&  (29/tt),  1892. 

"  DEAREST  ANNA, — I  have  received  your  letter  with  the 
little  additional  note  from  dear  Katy.2  What  extraor- 
dinary peaple  you  are !  How  can  you  imagine  it  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  for  you  if  I  were  to  come  on  a  visit  ? 
If  I  were  cheerful  and  pleasant  company  that  would  be  a 
different  matter.  But  I  am  no  use  for  conversational 
purposes,  and  am  often  out  of  spirits,  nor  have  I  any 
resources  in  myself.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  if  I 
came  you  might  afterwards  say  to  yourselves :  '  This  old 
fool,  we  awaited  him  with  such  impatience,  and  he  is  not 
a  bit  nice  after  all ! '  Anna,  I  really  do  want  to  come  to 

1  "  Is  changed  to  desire." 

58  Katharine  Oboukhov,  a  second  cousin  of  Tchaikovsky. 


688  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

the  Oboukhovs',  but  I  cannot  positively  say  '  yes '  at 
present.  ...  It  will  be  sad  to  part  from  Bob,  who  is 
dearer  to  me  than  ever,  since  we  have  been  inseparable 
companions  for  the  last  six  weeks." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  KLIN,/W/K  i;M  (29^),  1892. 

"...  I  am  sorry  your  comedy  is  ineffective  and  not 
suitable  for  the  stage.  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  Authors 
are  never  good  judges  of  their  own  work.  Flaubert's 
letters — which  I  enjoy  very  much  at  present — are  very 
curious  in  this  respect.  I  think  there  is  no  more  sympa- 
thetic personality  in  all  the  world  of  literature.  A  hero 
and  martyr  to  his  art.  And  so  wise !  I  have  found  some 
astonishing  answers  to  my  questionings  as  to  God  and 
religion  in  his  book." 

At  the  end  of  July  Russian  art  suffered  a  great  loss  in 
the  death  of  the  connoisseur  and  wealthy  patron,  S.  M. 
Tretiakov,  who  had  been  Nicholas  Rubinstein's  right  hand 
in  the  founding  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  To  Tchai- 
kovsky, Tretiakov's  somewhat  sudden  end  came  as  a 
severe  blow,  and  he  immediately  travelled  to  Moscow  to 
be  present  at  the  funeral  of  his  friend. 

A  pleasanter  incident  during  this  summer  of  hard 
work  came  in  the  form  of  an  invitation  to  conduct  a 
concert  at  the  Vienna  Exhibition.  "  It  is  an  advantage," 
he  wrote  to  his  brother  Modeste,  "because  so  far — on 
account  of  Hanslick — Vienna  has  been  hostile  to  me.  I 
should  like  to  overcome  this  unfriendly  opinion." 

At  last,  at  the  very  end  of  August,  the  vast  accumula- 
tion of  proof-correcting  was  finished,  which,  as  he  himself 
said,  would  have  almost  driven  him  out  of  his  mind,  but 
for  his  regular  and  healthy  way  of  life.  "  Even  in  dreams," 
he  wrote  to  Vladimir  Davidov,  "  I  see  corrections,  and 
flats  and  sharps  that  refuse  to  do  what  they  are  ordered. 
...  I  should  like  to  see  you  at  Verbovka  after  Vienna, 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  689 

but  Sophie  Menter,  who  is  coming  to  my  concert  there, 
has  given  me  a  pressing  invitation  to  her  castle.  Three 
times  already  I  have  broken  my  promise  to  go  to  Itter. 
I  am  really  interested  to  see  this  '  marvel/  as  everyone 
calls  the  castle." 

In  the  course  of  this  year,  at  the  suggestion  of  the 
Grand  Duke  Constantine  Constantinovich,  President  of 
the  Academy  of  Sciences,  Tchaikovsky  was  invited  by  the 
academician  Y.  K.  Grote  to  contribute  to  the  new  Dictionary 
of  the  Russian  Language,  then  appearing  in  a  second 
edition.  Tchaikovsky's  duties  were  limited  to  the  super- 
intendence of  musical  words,  but  he  was  flattered  by  his 
connection  with  such  an  important  scientific  work. 


XVI 

1892-1893 

Tchaikovsky  never  travelled  so  much  as  during  the 
foregoing  season.  It  is  true  he  was  always  fond  of 
moving  about.  He  could  not  remain  long  in  one  spot ; 
but  this  was  chiefly  because  it  always  seemed  to  him  that 
"every  place  is  better  than  the  one  in  which  we  are." 
Paris,  Kamenka,  Clarens,  Rome,  Brailov,  Simaki,  Tiflis — 
all  in  turn  were  his  favourite  resorts,  which  he  was 
delighted  to  visit  and  equally  pleased  to  quit.  But  apart 
from  the  ultimate  goal,  travelling  in  itself  was  an  enjoy- 
ment rather  than  a  dread  to  Tchaikovsky. 

From  1885,  when  he  resolved  "  no  longer  to  avoid  man- 
kind, but  to  keep  myself  before  the  world  so  long  as  it 
needs  me,"  his  journeys  became  more  frequent.  When  he 
began  to  conduct  his  own  compositions  in  1887,  his 
journeys  were  undertaken  with  a  fresh  object :  the  propa- 
gation of  his  works  abroad.  As  his  fame  increased,  so 
also  did  the  number  of  those  who  wished  to  hear  him 

2    Y 


69o  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

interpret  his  own  music,  and  thus  it  was  natural  that  by 
1892  the  number  of  his  journeys  was  far  greater  than  it 
had  been  ten  years  earlier. 

When  Tchaikovsky  started  upon  his  first  concert  tour 
he  undoubtedly  did  violence  to  his  "  actual  self,"  and  did 
not  look  forward  with  pleasure,  but  rather  with  dread,  to 
what  lay  before  him.  At  the  same  time  he  was  full  of  the 
expectation  of  happy  impressions  and  brilliant  results, 
and  was  firmly  convinced  of  the  importance  of  his  under- 
taking, both  for  his  own  fame  and  for  the  cause  of  Russian 
art  in  general. 

The  events  of  his  first  tour  would  not  have  disappointed 
even  a  man  less  modest  than  Tchaikovsky.  He  had  many 
consoling  experiences,  beginning  with  the  discovery  that 
he  was  better  known  abroad  than  he  had  hitherto  sus- 
pected. His  reception  in  Prague,  with  its  "moment  of 
absolute  happiness,"  the  sensation  in  Paris,  the  attention 
and  respect  with  which  he  was  received  in  Germany,  all 
far  surpassed  his  expectations.  Nevertheless,  he  returned 
disillusioned,  not  by  what  had  taken  place,  but  by  the  price 
he  had  paid  for  his  happiness. 

But  no  sooner  home  again,  than  he  forgot  all  he  had 
gone  through,  and  was  planning  his  second  tour  with 
evident  enjoyment. 

This  inexplicable  discontent  and  disenchantment  may, 
he  thought,  have  been  the  result  of  a  passing  mood.  The 
worst  of  his  fears — the  appearance  before  a  crowd  of 
foreigners — was  over.  He  believed  his  second  appearance 
would  be  far  less  painful,  and  expected  even  happier 
impressions  than  on  his  first  tour.  He  was  mistaken. 
He  merely  awoke  to  the  "  uselessness  "  of  the  sacrifice  he 
was  making  for  popularity's  sake,  and  he  asked  himself 
whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  stay  at  home  and  work. 
His  belief  in  the  importance  of  the  undertaking  vanished, 
and  with  it  the  whole  reason  for  doing  violence  to  his 
nature.  In  the  early  part  of  1890  he  declined  all  engage- 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  691 

ments  to  travel,  and  devoted  himself  to  composition.  But 
by  the  end  of  the  year  Tchaikovsky  seems  to  have  for- 
gotten all  the  lessons  of  his  two  concert  tours,  for  he 
began  once  more  to  conduct  in  Russia  and  abroad. 
Every  journey  cost  him  keener  pangs  of  home-sickness, 
and  each  time  he  vowed  it  should  be  the  last.  Yet  no 
sooner  had  he  reached  home  again,  than  he  began  planning 
yet  another  tour.  It  seemed  as  though  he  had  become 
the  victim  of  some  blind  force  which  drove  him  hither  and 
thither  at  will.  This  power  was  not  merely  complaisance 
to  the  demands  of  others,  nor  his  old  passion  for  travel- 
ling, nor  the  fulfilment  of  a  duty,  nor  yet  the  pursuit  of 
applause ;  still  less  was  it  the  outcome  of  a  desire  for 
material  gain.  This  mysterious  force  had  its  source  in  an 
inexplicable,  restless,  despondent  condition  of  mind,  which 
sought  appeasement  in  any  kind  of  distraction.  I  cannot 
explain  it  as  a  premonition  of  his  approaching  death; 
there  are  no  grounds  whatever  for  such  a  supposition. 
Nor  will  I,  in  any  case,  take  upon  myself  to  solve  the 
problem  of  my  brother's  last  psychological  development. 
I  will  only  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  passed 
through  a  similar  phase  before  every  decisive  change  in 
his  life.  As  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixties,  when  he 
chose  a  musical  career,  and  in  1885,  when  he  resolved  to 
"  show  himself  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,"  so  also  at  this 
juncture,  we  are  conscious  of  a  feeling  that  things  could 
not  have  gone  on  much  longer ;  we  feel  on  the  brink  of  a 
change,  as  though  something  had  come  to  an  end,  and  was 
giving  place  to  a  new  and  unknown  presence. 

His  death,  which  came  to  solve  the  problem,  seemed 
fortuitous.  Yet  it  is  clear  to  me  that  it  came  at  a  moment 
when  things  could  not  have  gone  on  much  longer ;  nor  can  I 
shake  off  the  impression  that  the  years  1892  and  1893 
were  the  dark  harbingers  of  a  new  and  serene  epoch. 

An  unpleasant  surprise  awaited  Tchaikovsky  in  Vienna. 
The  concert,  in  connection  with  the  Exhibition,  which  he 


692  LIFE   AND   LETTERS    OF 

had  been  engaged  to  conduct  was  to  be  given,  so  he  dis- 
covered, in  what  was  practically  a  large  restaurant,  reeking 
of  cookery  and  the  fumes  of  beer  and  tobacco.  The  com- 
poser immediately  declined  to  fulfil  his  contract,  unless  the 
tables  were  removed  and  the  room  converted  into  some- 
thing approaching  a  concert-hall.  Moreover,  the  orchestra, 
though  not  very  bad,  was  ridiculously  small.  Tchai- 
kovsky's friends — Door,  Sophie  Menter,  and  Sapellnikov 
— were  indignant  at  the  whole  proceeding,  and  realising 
the  unpleasantness  of  his  position,  he  decided  to  disregard 
his  contract,  and  started  with  Mme.  Menter  for  her  castle 
at  Itter. 

Professor  Door  has  related  his  reminiscences  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's unlucky  visit  to  Vienna,1  when  he  met  his  old 
friend  again  after  a  long  separation.  "  I  was  shocked  at 
his  appearance,"  he  writes,  "  for  he  had  aged  so  much  that 
I  only  recognised  him  by  his  wonderful  blue  eyes.  A  man 
old  at  fifty!  His  delicate  constitution  had  suffered  terribly 
from  his  incessant  creative  work.  We  spoke  of  old  days, 
and  I  asked  him  how  he  now  got  on  in  Petersburg.  He 
replied  that  he  was  so  overwhelmed  with  all  kinds  of 
attentions  that  he  was  perpetually  embarrassed  by  them, 
and  had  but  one  trouble,  which  was  that  he  never  saw  any- 
thing of  Rubinstein,  whom  he  had  loved  and  respected 
from  his  student  days.  *  Do  what  I  will/  he  said,  *  I  can 
get  no  hold  on  him ;  he  escapes  me  like  an  eel.'  I  laughed 
and  said  :  '  Do  not  take  the  great  man's  ways  too  much  to 
heart ;  he  has  his  weaknesses  like  other  mortals.  Rubin- 
stein, a  distinctly  lyrical  temperament,  has  never  had  any 
great  success  in  dramatic  music,  and  avoids  everyone  who 
has  made  a  name  in  this  sphere  of  art.  Comfort  yourself, 
dear  friend  ;  he  cut  Richard  Wagner  and  many  others 
besides.'  'But,'  he  broke  in  with  indignation,  'how  can 
you  compare  me  with  Wagner  and  many  others  who  have 

1  Neue  Freie  Presse,  March  3Oth,  1901.  The  above  is  quoted  from  the 
German  edition  of  The  Life  and  Letters  of  Tchaikovsky. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  693 

created  immortal  works  ? '  '  Oh,  as  to  immortality/  I 
replied,  '  I  will  tell  you  a  good  story  about  Brahms.  Once 
when  this  question  was  being  discussed,  Brahms  said  to 
me:  'Yes,  immortality  is  a  fine  thing,  if  only  one  knew  how 
long  it  would  last.'  Tchaikovsky  laughed  heartily  over 
this  *  bull,'  and  his  cheerfulness  seemed  quite  restored.  .  .  . 
After  three  hours'  rehearsal  he  was  greatly  exhausted. 
He  descended  with  great  difficulty  from  the  conductor's 
desk,  the  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  his  forehead,  and 
he  hurried  into  his  fur-lined  coat,  although  it  was  as  warm 
as  a  summer's  day.  He  rested  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  then  left  with  Sophie  Menter  and  Sapellnikov." 

During  this  short  visit  to  Vienna,  Tchaikovsky  stayed 
in  the  same  hotel  as  Pietro  Mascagni,  and  their  rooms 
actually  adjoined.  The  Italian  composer  was  then  the 
most  feted  and  popular  man  in  Vienna.  As  we  have 
already  mentioned,  Tchaikovsky  admired  Cavalleria  Rusti- 
cana.  The  libretto  appealed  to  him  in  the  first  place,  but 
he  recognised  much  promising  talent  in  the  music.  The 
rapidity  with  which  the  young  musician  had  become  the 
idol  of  the  Western  musical  world  did  not  in  the  least 
provoke  Tchaikovsky's  envy  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  in- 
terested in  the  Italian  composer,  and  drawn  to  him. 
Accident  having  brought  him  into  such  near  neighbour- 
hood, it  occurred  to  him  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  his 
young  colleague.  But  when  he  found  himself  confronted 
in  the  passage  with  a  whole  row  of  admirers,  all  awaiting 
an  audience  with  the  maestro ',  he  resolved  to  spare  him  at 
least  one  superfluous  visitor. 

The  Castle  of  Itter,  which  belongs  to  Madame  Sophie 
Menter,  is  situated  in  Tyrol,  a  few  hours  from  Munich. 
Besides  its  wonderfully  picturesque  situation,  it  has 
acquired  a  kind  of  reflected  glory,  not  only  from  the  repu- 
tation of  its  owner,  but  because  Liszt  often  stayed  there. 


694  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  ITTER,  September  i$th  (27^),  1892. 

"...  Itter  deserves  its  reputation.  It  is  a  devilish 
pretty  nest.  My  rooms — I  occupy  a  whole  floor — are 
very  fine,  but  a  curious  mixture  of  grandeur  and  bad 
taste :  luxurious  furniture,  a  wonderful  inlaid  bedstead 
and — some  vile  oleographs.  But  this  does  not  affect  me 
much.  The  great  thing  is  the  exquisite,  picturesque 
neighbourhood.  Peace  and  stillness,  and  not  a  trace  of 
any  other  visitors.  I  am  fond  of  Sapellnikov  and  Menter, 
and,  altogether,  I  have  not  felt  more  comfortable  for  a 
long  while.  I  shall  stay  five  days  longer  and  return 
to  '  Peter '  by  Salzburg  (where  I  want  to  see  the  Mozart 
Museum)  and  Prague  (where  I  stay  for  the  performance 
of  Pique  Dame).  On  the  25th  (October  7th)  I  hope  to 
put  in  an  appearance  upon  the  Quay  Fontanka.  The 
chief  drawback  here  is  that  I  get  neither  letters  nor  papers 
and  hear  nothing  about  Russia  or  any  of  you." 

The  performance  of  Pique  Dame  in  Prague  did  not 
take  place  until  October  8th.  The  opera,  judging  from 
the  accounts  of  those  present,  had  a  brilliant  success,  and 
the  composer  was  repeatedly  recalled.  Between  1892- 
1902  Pique  Dame  was  given  on  forty -one  occasions. 
When  we  bear  in  mind  that  opera  is  only  given  three 
times  a  week  at  the  National  Theatre  in  Prague,  and  that 
the  chief  object  of  this  enterprise  is  to  forward  the 
interests  of  Czechish  art,  this  number  of  performances 
points  to  the  fact  that  the  success  of  Pique  Dame  has 
proved  as  lasting  as  it  was  enthusiastic. 

Tchaikovsky  returned  to  Klin  about  the  first  week  in 
October  (Russian  style),  and  was  soon  busy  with  prepara- 
tions for  the  performance  of  lolanthe  in  St.  Petersburg. 
On  the  28th  (November  Qth)  he  left  home  for  the  capital, 
in  order  to  superintend  the  rehearsals  of  the  new  opera. 
Soon  after  his  arrival  he  received  two  interesting  com- 
munications. The  first  informed  him  that  he  had  been 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  695 

elected  a  Corresponding  Member  of  the  French  Academy ; 
the  second,  from  the  University  of  Cambridge,  invited 
him  to  accept  the  title  of  Doctor  of  Music,  honoris  causa, 
on  condition  that  he  attended  in  person  to  receive  the 
degree  at  the  hands  of  the  Vice-Chancellor. 

Tchaikovsky  acknowledged  the  first  honour,  and  ex- 
pressed his  readiness  to  conform  to  the  conditions  of  the 
second. 

At  the  same  time  he  had  a  further  cause  for  congratula- 
tion in  the  success  of  his  Sextet,  Souvenir  de  Florence, 
which  was  played  for  the  first  time  in  public  at  the 
St.  Petersburg  Chamber  Music  Union,  on  November  25th 
(December  7th).  The  players  were  :  E.  Albrecht,  Hille, 
Hildebrandt,  Heine,  Wierzbilowiez,  and  A.  Kouznietsov. 
This  time  all  were  delighted :  the  performers,  the  audience, 
and  the  composer  himself.  The  medal  of  the  Union  was 
presented  to  Tchaikovsky  amid  unanimous  applause. 
During  this  visit  the  composer  sat  to  the  well-known 
sculptor,  E.  Giinsburg,  for  a  statuette  which,  in  spite  of 
its  artistic  value,  is  not  successful  as  a  likeness. 

To  Anatol  Tchaikovsky. 

"PETERSBURG,  November  2$th  (December  6///),  1892. 
"...  Modeste's  play  was  given  yesterday.1  It  was  a 
complete  failure,  which  does  not  surprise  me  in  the  least, 
for  it  is  much  too  subtle  for  the  public  at  the  Alexander 
Theatre.  It  does  not  matter :  may  it  be  a  lesson  to 
Modeste.  The  pursuit  of  the  unattainable  hinders  him 
from  his  real  business — to  write  plays  in  the  accepted 
form.  The  rehearsals  for  lolanthe  and  the  Ballet  are  end- 
lessly dragged  out.  The  Emperor  will  be  present  on  the 
5th,  and  the  first  public  performance  will  take  place  the 
following  day." 

During  this  visit  to  the  capital  Tchaikovsky  did  his 
utmost  to  forward  the  interests  of  his  friends,  Taneiev 

1  A  Day  in  St.  Petersburg. 


696  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

and  Arensky,  as  will  be  seen  from  the  following  extract 
from  a  letter  to  the  former,  respecting  the  performance  of 
his  Orestes : — 

"  Vsievolojsky  (Director  of  the  Opera)  took  Napravnik 
aside  and  consulted  him  as  to  the  advisability  of  proposing 
Orestes  to  the  Emperor  for  next  season.  ...  I  suggested 
that  you  should  be  sent  for,  in  order  to  play  over  the  work 
in  their  presence.  Vsievolojsky  was  afraid  if  you  were 
put  to  this  trouble  you  might  feel  hurt  should  the  matter 
fall  through.  I  ventured  to  say  that,  as  a  true  philosopher, 
you  would  not  lose  heart  if  nothing  came  of  it.  ... 
I  spoke  not  less  eloquently  of  Arensky,  but  so  far  without 


On  December  5th  (i7th)  lolanthe  and  the  Nut-cracker 
Ballet  were  given  in  the  presence  of  the  Imperial  Court. 
The  opera  was  conducted  by  Napravnik.  The  Figners 
distinguished  themselves  by  their  admirable  interpretations 
of  the  parts  of  Vaudemont  and  lolanthe.  The  scenery 
and  costumes  were  beautiful.  Nevertheless  the  work  was 
only  accorded  a  succes  cTestime.  The  chief  reason  for  this 
— according  to  Modeste  Tchaikovsky — was  the  prolixity 
of  the  libretto  and  its  lack  of  scenic  interest. 

The  Ballet — admirably  conducted  by  Drigo— was  bril- 
liantly staged,  and  received  with  considerable  applause ; 
yet  the  impression  left  by  the  first  night  was  not  wholly 
favourable.  The  subject,  which  differed  greatly  from  the 
conventional  ballet  programme,  was  not  entirely  to  blame. 
The  illness  of  the  talented  ballet-master,  Petipa,  and  the 
substitution  of  a  man  of  far  less  skill  and  imagination, 
probably  accounted  for  the  comparative  failure  of  the 
work.  The  delicate  beauty  of  the  music  did  not  appeal  to 
the  public  on  a  first  hearing,  and  some  time  elapsed  before 
the  Nut-cracker  became  a  favourite  item  in  the  repertory. 

The  attitude  of  the  Press  appears  from  the  following 
letter  from  the  composer  to  Anatol,  dated  Petersburg, 
December  loth  (22nd),  1892  : — 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  697 

"  This  is  the  fourth  day  on  which  all  the  papers 
have  been  cutting  up  both  my  latest  creations.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  the  first  time.  The  abuse  does  not  annoy  me 
in  the  least,  and  yet — as  always  under  these  circum- 
stances— I  am  in  a  hateful  frame  of  mind.  When  one  has 
lived  in  expectation  of  an  important  event,  as  soon  as  it  is 
over  there  comes  a  kind  of  apathy  and  disinclination  for 
work,  while  the  emptiness  and  futility  of  all  our  efforts 
becomes  so  evident.  .  .  .  The  day  after  to-morrow  I  leave 
for  Berlin.  There  I  shall  decide  where  to  go  for  a  rest 
(most  probably  to  Nice).  On  December  2pth  I  shall  be 
in  Brussels.  From  thence  I  shall  go  to  Paris,  and  after- 
wards to  see  Mile.  Fanny  at  Montbeillard.  About  the 
loth  January  I  have  to  conduct  the  concerts  at  Odessa. 
At  the  end  of  the  month  I  shall  be  in  Petersburg.  Later 
I  shall  spend  some  time  in  Klin,  and  go  to  you  in  Lent." 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

"BERLIN,  December  i6th  (28^),  1892. 

"  Here  I  am,  still  in  Berlin.  To-day  I  have  given 
myself  up  to  serious  reflections,  which  will  have  important 
results.  I  have  been  carefully,  and  as  it  were  objectively, 
analysing  my  Symphony,  which  luckily  I  have  not  yet 
orchestrated  and  given  to  the  world.  The  impression  was 
not  flattering :  the  work  is  written  for  the  sake  of  writing, 
and  is  not  interesting  or  moving.  I  ought  to  put  it  aside 
and  forget  it.  ...  Am  I  done  for  and  dried  up  ?  Perhaps 
there  is  yet  some  subject  which  could  inspire  me;  but  I 
ought  to  compose  no  more  absolute  music,  symphony  or 
chamber  works.  To  live  without  work  would  weary  me. 
What  am  I  to  do  ?  Fold  my  hands  as  far  as  composition 
is  concerned  and  try  to  forget  it  ?  It  is  difficult  to  decide. 
I  think,  and  think,  and  do  not  know  how  to  settle  the 
question.  In  any  case,  the  outlook  has  not  been  cheerful 
the  last  three  days." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"BALE,  December  \^th  (^ist),  1902. 

"  ...  I  have  nothing  to  write  about  but  fits  of  weep- 
ing. Really  it  is  surprising  that  this  phenomenal,  deadly 


698  LIFE  AND   LETTERS   OF 

home-sickness  does  not  drive  me  mad.  Since  this  psycho- 
logical phase  grows  stronger  with  every  journey  abroad,  in 
future  I  shall  never  travel  alone,  even  for  a  short  time.  To- 
morrow this  feeling  will  give  place  to  another  (scarcely  ?) 
less  painful  emotion.  I  am  going  to  Montbeillard,  and  I 
must  confess  to  a  morbid  fear  and  horror,  as  though  I  were 
entering  the  kingdom  of  the  dead  and  the  world  of  those 
who  had  long  since  vanished." 

To  his  brother,  Nicholas  Ilich  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  December  22nd (January  ^rd),  1892. 

"...  I  wrote  to  Mile.  Fanny  from  Bale  to  let  her  know 
the  time  of  my  arrival,  so  that  she  should  not  be  upset  by 
my  unexpected  appearance.  I  reached  Montbeillard  at 
3  p.m.  on  January  1st  (new  style),  and  went  straight  to 
her  house.  She  lives  in  a  quiet  street  in  this  little  town, 
which  is  so  quiet  that  it  might  be  compared  to  one  of  our 
own  Russian  '  district '  towns.  The  house  contains  but 
six  rooms — two  on  each  floor — and  belongs  to  Fanny  and 
her  sister.  Here  they  were  born,  and  have  spent  their 
whole  lives.  Mile.  Fanny  came  to  the  door,  and  I  knew 
her  at  once.  She  does  not  look  her  seventy  years,  and, 
curiously  enough,  has  altered  very  little  on  the  whole. 
The  same  high-coloured  complexion  and  brown  eyes, 
and  her  hair  is  not  very  grey.  She  has  grown  much 
stouter.  I  had  dreaded  tears  and  an  affecting  scene, 
but  there  was  nothing  of  the  sort.  She  greeted  me 
as  though  we  had  not  met  for  a  year — joyfully  and 
tenderly,  but  quite  simply.  It  soon  became  clear  to  me 
why  our  parents,  and  we  ourselves,  were  so  fond  of  her. 
She  is  a  remarkably  clever,  sympathetic  creature,  who 
seems  to  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  kindliness  and  integrity. 
Naturally  we  started  upon  reminiscences,  and  she  re- 
called a  number  of  interesting  details  from  our  childhood. 
Then  she  showed  me  our  copybooks,  my  exercises,  your 
letters  and  mine,  and — what  was  of  the  greatest  interest  to 
me — a  few  dear,  kind  letters  from  our  mother.  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  a  strange  and  wonderful  feeling  came  over 
me  while  listening  to  her  recollections  and  looking  over 
these  letters  and  books.  The  past  rose  up  so  clearly  before 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  699 

me  that  I  seemed  to  inhale  the  air  of  Votinsk  and  hear  my 
mother's  voice  distinctly.  .  .  .  When  she  asked  me  which 
of  my  brothers  I  loved  best,  I  replied  evasively  that  I  was 
equally  fond  of  them  all.  At  which  she  was  a  little  indig- 
nant, and  said  that,  as  my  playmate  in  childhood,  I  ought 
to  care  most  for  you.  And  truly  at  that  moment  I  felt  I 
loved  you  intensely,  because  you  had  shared  all  my  youth- 
ful joys.  I  stayed  with  her  from  three  until  eight  o'clock, 
without  noticing  how  time  went.  I  spent  the  whole  of  the 
next  day  in  her  society.  .  .  . 

"  She  gave  me  a  beautiful  letter  from  my  mother,  in 
which  she  writes  of  you  with  special  tenderness.  I  will 
show  it  to  you.  The  two  sisters  do  not  live  luxuriously — 
but  comfortably.  Fanny's  sister  also  lived  a  long  time  in 
Russia,  and  does  not  speak  the  language  badly.  Both  of 
them  still  teach.  They  are  known  to  the  whole  town,  for 
they  have  taught  all  the  educated  people  there,  and  are 
universally  loved  and  respected.  In  the  evening  I  em- 
braced Fanny  when  I  took  leave  of  her,  and  promised  to 
return  some  day.  ..." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"PARIS,  January  tfh  (\6tti),  1892. 

"...  After  my  brilliant  concert  in  Brussels  I  returned 
here  yesterday.  The  orchestra  was  very  good,  but  not 
highly  disciplined.  I  was  very  cordially  received,  but  this 
did  not  make  things  any  easier  for  me.  I  suffered  equally 
from  agitation  and  the  anguish  of  home-sickness.  During 
the  interval  Gevaert,  as  President  of  the  Artists'  Benevo- 
lent Association,  made  a  speech  before  the  assembled 
orchestra,  in  which  he  thanked  me  on  behalf  of  this 
society.  As  the  concert  was  given  in  aid  of  a  chanty,  I 
declined  to  accept  any  fee,  which  touched  the  artists  very 
deeply." 

The  programme  of  the  Brussels  concert  included,  among 
other  compositions  by  Tchaikovsky,  the  Pianoforte  Con- 
certo, op.  23  (Rummel  as  soloist),  the  Nut-cracker  Suite, 
and  the  Overture  "  /<?/2." 


700  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

On  January  I2th  (24th),  1893,  Tchaikovsky  arrived  in 
Odessa,  where  for  nearly  a  fortnight  he  was  feted  with 
such  enthusiasm  that  even  the  Prague  festivities  of  1888 
dwindled  into  insignificance  compared  with  these  experi- 
ences. 

The  ovations  began  the  day  after  his  arrival,  when,  on 
his  appearance  at  the  rehearsal  of  Pique  Dame,  he  was 
welcomed  by  the  theatrical  direction  and  the  entire  opera 
company.  Not  contented  with  vociferous  cheering,  he  was 
"  chaired  "  and  borne  around  in  triumph,  much  to  his  dis- 
comfort. On  the  1 6th  he  conducted  the  following  works 
at  the  concert  of  the  Musical  Society :  The  Tempest^  the 
Andante  cantabile  from  the  Quartet,  op.  n,  and  the  Nut- 
cracker Suite.  The  local  section  of  the  Musical  Society 
presented  him  with  a  baton,  and  the  musicians  gave  him  a 
laurel  wreath.  Some  numbers  on  the  programme  had  to 
be  repeated  three  times  in  response  to  the  vociferous 
applause. 

This  triumph  was  followed  by  a  series  of  others :  the 
first  performance  of  Pique  Dame,  a  soiree  in  his  honour  at 
the  English  Club,  a  charity  concert,  given  by  the  Slavonic 
Association,  and  a  second  concert  of  the  Musical  Society, 
at  which  the  Overture  "  1812  "  had  to  be  repeated  da  capo. 

Tchaikovsky  left  Odessa  on  January  25th  (February 
6th),  and  returned  to  Klin  to  recover  from  the  strain  and 
fatigue  of  his  visit. 

Among  the  many  occupations  which  overwhelmed  him 
there,  he  found  time  to  sit  to  Kouznietsov  for  his  portrait. 
"  Although  the  artist  knew  nothing  of  Tchaikovsky's  inner 
life,"  says  Modeste,"he  has  succeeded,  thanks  to  the  prompt- 
ings of  inspiration,  in  divining  all  the  tragedy  of  that 
mental  and  spiritual  phase  through  which  the  composer 
was  passing  at  that  time,  and  has  rendered  it  with  profound 
actuality.  Knowing  my  brother  as  I  do,  I  can  affirm  that 
no  truer,  more  living  likeness  of  him  exists.  There  are  a 
few  slight  deviations  from  strict  truth  in  the  delineation  of 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  701 

the  features ;  but  they  do  not  detract  from  the  portrait  as 
a  whole,  and  I  would  not  on  any  account  have  them  cor- 
rected. Perhaps  the  vitality  which  breathes  from  the 
picture  has  been  purchased  at  the  price  of  these  small 
defects." 

Kouznietsov  presented  the  portrait  to  Tchaikovsky, 
who,  however,  declined  to  accept  it,  partly  because  he 
could  not  endure  a  picture  of  himself  upon  his  own  walls, 
but  chiefly  because  he  did  not  consider  himself  justified  in 
preventing  the  artist  from  making  something  out  of  his 
work.  The  portrait  is  now  in  the  Tretiakov  Gallery, 
Moscow. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"KLIN,  February  $th  (iyM),  1893. 

"...  My  journey  from  Kamenka  here  was  not  very  pro- 
pitious. I  was  taken  so  ill  in  the  carriage  that  I  frightened 
my  fellow-passengers  by  becoming  delirious,  and  had  to 
stop  at  Kharkov.  After  taking  my  usual  remedies,  and  a 
long  sleep,  I  awoke  quite  well  in  the  morning.  .  .  . 

"  Next  week  I  must  pay  a  visit  to  Vladimir  Shilovsky. 
The  prospect  fills  me  with  fear  and  agitation.  Tell  me, 
has  he  greatly  changed?  How  is  the  dropsy?  I  am 
afraid  of  a  scene,  and  altogether  dread  our  meeting.  Is 
there  really  no  hope  for  him  ?  Answer  these  questions." 

Vladimir  Shilovsky,  who  had  played  an  important 
part  in  my  brother's  life  some  twenty  years  earlier,  had 
very  rarely  come  in  contact  with  his  old  teacher  since  his 
marriage  with  the  only  remaining  child  of  Count  Vassiliev. 
There  had  been  no  breach  between  them,  but  their  lives 
had  run  in  opposite  directions.  In  January,  1893,  I  heard 
that  Vladimir  Shilovsky  was  seriously  ill.  I  informed 
Peter  Ilich,  who  visited  his  old  pupil  in  Moscow,  and  was 
touched  by  the  joy  he  showed  at  their  reunion,  and  by  the 
calm  self-control  with  which  he  spoke  of  his  hopeless  con- 
dition. The  old  intimacy  was  renewed,  and  only  ended 
with  the  Count's  death  in  June,  1893. 


702  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 


XVII 

Tchaikovsky's  life  moved  in  spiral  convolutions.  At 
every  turn  his  way  seemed  to  lie  through  the  same 
spiritual  phases.  The  alternations  of  light  and  shade 
succeeded  each  other  with  a  corresponding  regularity. 
When  speaking  of  the  depression  which  darkened  his  last 
years,  I  emphasised  the  fact  that  he  had  gone  through 
a  similar  condition  of  mind  before  every  decisive  change  in 
his  existence.  The  acute  moral  tension  which  preceded 
his  retirement  from  the  Ministry  of  Justice  was  followed 
by  the  calm  and  happy  summer  of  1862.  To  his  glad 
and  hopeful  mood  at  the  beginning  of  1877  succeeded  the 
crisis  which  compelled  him  to  go  abroad  for  rest  and 
change.  So,  too,  this  year,  1893,  opened  with  a  period 
of  serene  content,  for  which  the  creation  of  his  Sixth,  or 
so-called  "  Pathetic,"  Symphony  was  mainly  accountable. 
The  composition  of  this  work  seems  to  have  been  an  act 
of  exorcism,  whereby  he  cast  out  all  the  dark  spirits 
which  had  possessed  him  in  the  preceding  years. 

The  first  mention  of  this  Symphony  occurs  in  a  letter  to 
his  brother  Anatol,  dated  February  loth  (22nd),  1893, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  being  completely  absorbed  in  his 
new  project.  The  following  day,  writing  to  Vladimir 
Davidov,  he  enters  into  fuller  particulars  : — 

"  I  must  tell  you  how  happy  I  am  about  my  work.  As 
you  know,  I  destroyed  a  Symphony  which  I  had  partly  com- 
posed and  orchestrated  in  the  autumn.  I  did  wisely,  for 
it  contained  little  that  was  really  fine — an  empty  pattern 
of  sounds  without  any  inspiration.  Just  as  I  was  starting 
on  my  journey  (the  visit  to  Paris  in  December,  1892)  the 
idea  came  to  me  for  a  new  Symphony.  This  time  with 
a  programme ;  but  a  programme  of  a  kind  which  remains 
an  enigma  to  all — let  them  guess  it  who  can.  The  work 
will  be  entitled  "  A  Programme  Symphony  "  (No.  6).  This 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  703 

programme  is  penetrated  by  subjective  sentiment.  During 
my  journey,  while  composing  it  in  my  mind,  I  frequently 
shed  tears.  Now  I  am  home  again  I  have  settled  down 
to  sketch  out  the  work,  and  it  goes  with  such  ardour  that 
in  less  than  four  days  I  have  completed  the  first  move- 
ment, while  the  rest  of  the  Symphony  is  clearly  outlined  in 
my  head.  There  will  be  much  that  is  novel  as  regards 
form  in  this  work.  For  instance,  the  Finale  will  not  be 
a  great  Allegro,  but  an  Adagio  of  considerable  dimensions. 
You  cannot  imagine  what  joy  I  feel  at  the  conviction  that 
my  day  is  not  yet  over,  and  that  I  may  still  accomplish 
much.  Perhaps  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  it  does  not  seem 
likely.  Do  not  speak  of  this  to  anyone  but  Modeste." 

After  an  interval  of  three  years  Tchaikovsky  once  more 
conducted  a  concert  of  the  Moscow  Musical  Society  on 
February  I4th  (26th).  This  was  in  response  to  a  letter 
from  Safonov  begging  him  to  make  up  their  former  per- 
sonal differences  and  to  take  part  again  in  the  work  of 
Nicholas  Rubinstein,  of  imperishable  memory.  The  Over- 
ture-Fantasia Hamlet  was  played  at  this  concert  for  the 
first  time  in  Moscow. 

About  the  end  of  February  Tchaikovsky  again  returned 
to  Moscow  to  hear  a  new  Suite  From  Childhood's  Days, 
by  George  Konius,  which  pleased  him  very  much.  Through 
the  influence  of  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine,  Tchaikovsky 
succeeded  in  getting  an  annual  pension  of  1,200  roubles 
(£120)  for  the  struggling  young  composer. 

At  this  time  he  suffered  from  a  terrible  attack  of  head- 
ache, which  never  left  him,  and  threatened  to  become  a 
chronic  ailment.  It  departed,  however,  with  extraordinary 
suddenness  on  the  fourteenth  day  after  the  first  paroxysm. 

On  March  nth  (23rd)  he  visited  Kharkov,  where  he 
remained  till  the  i6th  (28th),  and  enjoyed  a  series  of 
triumphs  similar  to  those  he  had  experienced  in  Odessa 
earlier  in  the  year. 

By  March  i8th  (3Oth)  Tchaikovsky  \vas  back  in  Klin. 
Here  he  received  news  that  Ippolitov-Ivanov  was  leaving 


704  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

Tiflis  to  join  the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  In  his  answer, 
which  is  hardly  a  letter  of  congratulation,  Tchaikovsky 
refers  to  his  last  Symphony,  which  he  does  not  intend  to  tear 
up,  to  the  sketch  of  a  new  Pianoforte  Concerto,  and  to 
several  pieces  for  piano  which  he  hopes  to  compose  in  the 
near  future. 

He  spent  the  Easter  holidays  in  the  society  of  his 
relatives  and  intimate  friends  in  Petersburg,  and,  but  for 
the  hopeless  illness  of  his  oldest  friend,  the  poet  Apukhtin, 
this  visit  would  have  been  a  very  quiet  and  cheerful  inter- 
lude in  his  life. 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

"  KLIN,  April  i$th  (27^),  1893. 

"  I  am  engaged  in  making  musical  pancakes.1  To-day 
I  have  tossed  the  tenth.  It  is  remarkable  ;  the  more  I  do, 
the  easier  and  pleasanter  the  occupation  grows.  At  first 
it  was  uphill  work,  and  the  first  two  pieces  are  the  outcome 
of  a  great  effort  of  will ;  but  now  I  can  scarcely  fix  the 
ideas  in  my  mind,  they  succeed  each  other  with  such 
rapidity.  If  I  could  spend  a  whole  year  in  the  country, 
and  my  publisher  was  prepared  to  take  all  I  composed,  I 
might — if  I  chose  to  work  a  la  Leikin — make  about 
36,000  roubles  a  year ! " 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"  Moscow,  April  22nd  (May  $th\  1893. 

"  Ah,  dear  Modi,  I  do  not  believe  I  shall  get  the  thirty 
pieces  written !  I  have  finished  eighteen  in  fifteen  days 
and  brought  them  with  me  to  Moscow.  But  now  I  must 
stay  here  four  days  (the  performance  at  the  Conservatoire, 
one  morning  with  the  Synodal  singers,  and  my  birthday 
with  old  friends),  then  go  on  to  Nijny  and  return  here  in 
time  for  the  first  performance  of  Rakhmaninov's  Aleko.  I 

1  Jurgenson  had  commissioned  Tchaikovsky  to  send  him  as  many  songs 
and  pianoforte  pieces  as  he  liked,  and  while  awaiting  at  Klin  the  day  of  his 
departure  for  London,  the  composer  determined  to  write  one  number  every 
day. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  705 

shall  not  be  home  before  the  3<Dth  (May  I2th),  and  I  start 
on  the  loth  (22nd)  of  May, .  .  .  but  perhaps  I  may  knock 
off  a  few  songs  very  quickly." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"KLIN,  May  ind,  1893. 

"  I  intended  to  ask  my  old  fee — 100  roubles  for  each 
number.  Now,  in  consequence  of  the  number  of  paying 
propositions  made  to  me  (I  swear  it  is  true),  I  must  put 
up  my  prices  a  little.  But  I  will  not  forget  that  you  have 
also  published  my  greater  works,  from  which  you  will  not 
derive  any  profit  for  a  long  time  to  come.  So  let  it 
stand  at  the  old  fee.  ...  It  is  a  pity  I  had  not  more  time 
for  writing. 

"  Should  anything  happen  to  Karl,1  and  the  family  be  in 
need,  do  not  hesitate  to  help  them  out  of  my  present,  or 
future,  funds.  .  .  ." 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 
"PETERSBURG,  May  6th  (i8//fc),  1893. 

".  .  .  .  As  regards  my  fee,  I  must  tell  you  that  Gutheil 
has  never  made  me  any  proposals,  because  all  Russian  pub- 
lishers know  that  I  am  not  to  be  caught  by  any  bait  they 
may  offer.  But  abroad  my  relations  with  you  are  not 
understood,  therefore  I  often  receive  advances  from  other 
countries.  Many  of  them  ( Andre"  of  Offenbach)  have  offered 
me  far  higher  fees  than  I  get  from  you  (of  course,  I  am 
only  speaking  of  short  compositions).  ...  I  cannot  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  many  of  my  symphonies  and  operas 
have  cost  you  more  than  they  bring  in.  Of  course,  they 
will  sell  better  some  day,  but  at  present  I  do  not  like  to 
bleed  you.  You  are  not  as  rich  as  an  Abraham,  a  Schott, 
or  a  Simrock.  ...  If  (on  your  honour)  you  do  not  con- 
sider it  too  much  to  give  me  another  fifty,  I  will  agree  to 
it.  Naturally  I  shall  be  very  glad,  for  this  has  been  a 
heavy  year. 

"  I  want  nothing  for  the  Mozart,2  because  I  have  not  put 
much  of  myself  into  it." 

1  Karl  Albrecht,  who  was  on  his  death-bed. 

2  The  Quartet  Night. 
2   Z 


706  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

"BERLIN,  May  \$th  (2*]th\  1893. 

".  .  .  .  This  time  I  wept  and  suffered  more  than  ever, 
perhaps  because  I  let  my  thoughts  dwell  too  much  on  our 
last  year's  journey.  It  is  purely  a  psychophysical  pheno- 
menon !  And  how  I  loathe  trains,  the  atmosphere  of 
railway  carriages,  and  fellow-travellers  !  .  .  .  I  travel  too 
much,  that  is  why  I  dislike  it  more  and  more.  It  is  quite 
green  here,  and  flowers  blooming  everywhere — but  it  does 
not  give  me  any  pleasure,  and  I  am  only  conscious  of  an 
incredible  and  overwhelming  home-sickness." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"LONDON,  May  i^jth  (29^),  1893. 

"  I  arrived  here  early  this  morning.  I  had  some  difficulty 
to  find  a  room — all  the  hotels  are  packed.  The  concert 
takes  place  on  May  2Oth  (June  ist),  after  which  I  must 
rush  around  for  about  a  week,  for  the  Cambridge  ceremony 
does  not  come  off  until  the  nth  or  I2th,  and  on  the  I3th 
— our  ist  of  June — I  begin  my  homeward  journey.  I  am 
continually  thinking  of  you  all.  I  never  realise  all  my 
affection  for  you  so  much  as  when  away  from  home,  and 
oppressed  with  loneliness  and  nostalgia." 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

"LONDON,  May  17^  (29^),  1893. 

"Is  it  not  strange  that  of  my  own  free  will  I  have 
elected  to  undergo  this  torture  ?  What  fiend  can  have 
suggested  it  to  me  ?  Several  times  during  my  journey 
yesterday  I  resolved  to  throw  up  the  whole  thing  and  turn 
tail.  But  what  a  disgrace  to  turn  back  for  no  good 
reason !  Yesterday  I  suffered  so  much  that  I  could 
neither  sleep  nor  eat,  which  is  very  unusual  for  me.  I 
suffer  not  only  from  torments  which  cannot  be  put  into 
words  (there  is  one  place  in  my  new  Symphony — the 
Sixth — where  they  seem  to  me  adequately  expressed), 
but  from  a  dislike  to  strangers,  and  an  indefinable  terror — 
though  of  what  the  devil  only  knows.  This  state  makes 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  707 

itself  felt  by  internal  pains  and  loss  of  power  in  my  legs. 
However,  it  is  for  the  last  time  in  my  life.  Only  for 
a  heap  of  money  will  I  ever  go  anywhere  again,  and  never 
for  more  than  three  days  at  a  time.  And  to  think  I  must 
kick  my  heels  here  for  another  fortnight ! !  It  seems  like 
eternity.  I  arrived  early  this  morning,  via  Cologne  and 
Ostend.  The  crossing  took  three  hours,  but  it  was  not 
rough.  .  .  .  On  the  steps  of  my  hotel  I  met  the  French 
pianist  Diemer,  and  to  my  great  astonishment  found 
myself  delighted  to  see  him.  He  is  an  old  acquaintance, 
and  very  well  disposed  towards  me.  In  consequence  of 
our  meeting  I  had  to  go  to  his  '  Recital.'  Saint-Saens 
also  takes  part  in  the  concert  at  which  I  am  conducting." 

Profiting  by  the  presence  in  England  of  the  composers 
who  were  about  to  receive  the  honorary  degree  at 
Cambridge,  the  Philharmonic  Society  gave  two  concerts 
in  which  they  took  part.  At  the  first  of  these  Tchai- 
kovsky conducted  his  Fourth  Symphony  with  brilliant 
success.  According  to  the  Press  notices,  none  of  his 
works  previously  performed  had  pleased  so  well,  or  added 
so  much  to  his  reputation  in  England. 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"LONDON,  May  22nd  (June  yd),  1893. 

"...  The  concert  was  brilliant.  It  was  unanimously 
agreed  that  I  had  a  real  triumph,  so  that  Saint-Saens,  who 
followed  me,  suffered  somewhat  from  my  unusual  success. 
Of  course,  this  is  pleasant  enough,  but  what  an  infliction 
London  life  is  during  the  '  season '  !  Luncheons  and 
dinners  which  last  an  interminable  time.  Yesterday 
the  directors  of  the  Philharmonic  gave  a  dinner  at  the 
Westminster  Club  in  honour  of  Saint-Saens  and  myself. 
It  was  very  smart  and  luxurious  ;  we  sat  down  to  table  at 
seven  and  rose  at  11.30  p.m.  (I  am  not  exaggerating). 
Besides  this  I  am  invited  to  concerts  daily  and  cannot 
refuse  to  go.  To-day,  for  instance,  I  went  to  Sarasate's 
concert.  He  is  most  kind  and  amiable  to  me.  Last  time 
I  was  here  in  the  winter  and  in  bad  weather,  so  that  I  got 


;o8  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

no  idea  of  what  the  town  is  really  like.  The  devil  knows 
Paris  is  a  mere  village  compared  to  London  !  Walking  in 
Regent  Street  and  Hyde  Park,  one  sees  so  many  carriages, 
so  much  splendid  and  luxurious  equipment,  that  the  eye 
is  fairly  dazzled.  I  have  been  to  afternoon  tea  at  the 
Embassy.  Our  secretary  at  the  Embassy  here,  Sazonov, 
is  a  charming  man.  What  a  number  of  people  I  see,  and 
how  tired  I  get!  In  the  morning  I  suffer  a  great  deal 
from  depression,  and  later  I  feel  in  a  kind  of  daze.  I 
have  but  one  thought :  to  get  it  all  over.  ...  At  Cam- 
bridge I  will  keep  a  full  diary.  It  seems  to  me  it  will  be 
a  very  droll  business.  Grieg  is  ill.  All  the  other  recipients 
will  come.  .  .  /' 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"LONDON,  May  z^th  (June  lo/ft),  1893. 
"  This  letter  will  not  be  in  time  to  reach  you  in  '  Peter.' 
...  I  have  not  had  a  chance  of  writing.  This  is  an 
infernal  life.  Not  a  moment's  peace  :  perpetual  agitation, 
dread,  home-sickness,  fatigue.  However,  the  hour  of 
escape  is  at  hand.  Besides  which,  I  must  say  I  find  many 
excellent  folks  here,  who  show  me  every  kind  of  attention. 
All  the  doctors  designate  have  now  arrived  except  Grieg, 
who  is  too  ill.  Next  to  Saint-Saens,  Boi'to  appeals  most 
to  me.  Bruch  is  an  unsympathetic,  inflated  sort  of 
personage.  I  go  to  Cambridge  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  do  not  stay  at  an  hotel,  but  in  the  house  of  Dr.  Mait- 
land,  who  has  written  me  a  very  kind  letter  of  invitation. 
I  shall  only  be  there  one  night.  On  the  day  of  our 
arrival  there  will  be  a  concert  and  dinner,  and  on  the 
following  day — the  ceremony.  By  four  o'clock  it  will  be 
all  over." 

In  1893,  m  consequence  of  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of 
the  Cambridge  University  Musical  Society,  the  list  of 
those  who  received  the  Doctor's  degree,  honoris  causa, 
was  distinguished  by  an  unusual  number  of  musicians : 
Tchaikovsky,  Saint-Saens,  Boi'to,  Max  Bruch  and  Edvard 
Grieg. 

The  festivities  at  Cambridge  began  on  June  I2th  (new 


TCHAIKOVSKY    IN    1893 
(From  a  photograph  taken  in  London) 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  709 

style)  with  a  concert,  the  programme  of  which  included  a 
work  by  each  of  the  five  recipients  of  the  musical  degree, 
and  one  by  Dr.  Stanford,1  the  director  of  the  society. 

The  programme  was  as  follows  :  (i)  Fragment  from 
Odysseus  for  soli,  chorus,  and  orchestra  (Max  Bruch)  ; 
(2)  Fantasia  for  pianoforte  and  orchestra,  Africa,  the  com- 
poser at  the  piano  (Saint-Saens) ;  (3)  Prologue  from 
Mefistofele  for  solo,  chorus,  and  orchestra  (Boi'to) ;  (4) 
Symphonic  poem,  Francesca  da  Rimini  (op.  32),  (Tchai- 
kovsky) ;  (5)  Peer  Gynt  Suite  (op.  46)  (Grieg) ;  (6)  Ode, 
The  East  to  the  West,  for  chorus  and  orchestra  (op.  52) 
(Stanford). 

The  various  numbers  were  conducted  by  the  respective 
composers,  with  the  exception  of  Grieg's  Suite  and  the 
Fantasia  Africa,  which  were  given  under  the  baton  of 
Dr.  Stanford. 

The  singers  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henschel,  Mme.  Marie 
Brema,  and  Plunket  Green. 

In  his  Portraits  et  Souvenirs  Saint-Saens  has  given  the 
following  description  of  this  concert,  and  I  cannot  refrain 
from  interrupting  my  narrative  in  order  to  quote  what  the 
French  composer  says  of  my  brother's  Francesca. 

"  Piquant  charms  and  dazzling  fireworks  abound  in 
Tchaikovsky's  Francesca  da  Rimini,  which  bristles  with 
difficulties,  and  shrinks  from  no  violence  of  effect.  The 
gentlest  and  kindest  of  men  has  let  loose  a  whirlwind  in 
this  work,  and  shows  as  little  pity  for  his  interpreters  and 
hearers  as  Satan  for  sinners.  But  the  composer's  talent 
and  astounding  technique  are  so  great  that  the  critic  can 
only  feel  pleasure  in  the  work.  A  long  melodic  phrase,  the 
love-song  of  Paola  and  Francesca,  soars  above  this  tempest, 
this  bufera  infernale,  which  attracted  Liszt  before  Tchai- 
kovky,  and  engendered  his  Dante  Symphony.  Liszt's 
Francesca  is  more  touching  and  more  Italian  in  character 
than  that  of  the  great  Slavonic  composer  ;  the  whole  work 
is  so  typical  that  we  seem  to  see  the  profile  of  Dante 

1  This  was  before  Sir  Charles  Villiers  Stanford  was  knighted. 


;io  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

projected  in  it.  Tchaikovsky's  art  is  more  subtle,  the  out- 
lines clearer,  the  material  more  attractive ;  from  a  purely 
musical  point  of  view  the  work  is  better.  Liszt's  version  is 
perhaps  more  to  the  taste  of  the  poet  or  painter.  On  the 
whole,  they  can  fitly  stand  side  by  side  ;  either  of  them  is 
worthy  of  Dante,  and  as  regards  noise,  both  leave  nothing 
to  be  desired." l 

The  concert  was  followed  by  a  banquet  in  the  hall  of 
King's  College,  at  which  a  hundred  guests  sat  down  to 
table.  As  it  was  purely  a  musical  festivity,  only  those 
who  were  to  receive  the  honorary  musical  degree  were 
invited  to  this  banquet.  The  place  of  honour,  next  to  the 
chairman,  was  given  to  Saint-Saens,  the  eldest  of  the 
guests.  Never  had  Tchaikovsky  greater  reason  to  con- 
gratulate himself  upon  his  comparative  youth,  for,  together 
with  the  honour,  the  difficult  task  of  replying  to  a  toast  on 
behalf  of  his  colleagues  fell  to  the  lot  of  Saint-Saens. 

After  the  dinner  came  a  brilliant  reception  to  the  com- 
posers in  the  hall  of  the  Museum. 

Besides  the  musicians,  there  were  several  other  recipients 
of  the  honorary  degree,  including  the  Maharajah  of  Bohon- 
ager,  Lord  Herschel,  Lord  Roberts,  Dr.  Julius  Stupitza, 
Professor  of  English  Philology  in  the  University  of  Berlin, 
and  the  Irish  scholar,  Standish  O'Grady. 

On  the  morning  of  June  I3th  all  the  future  doctors 
assembled  in  the  Arts  School  and  attired  themselves  in 
their  splendid  doctors'  robes  of  red  and  white ;  after 
which  they  took  up  their  positions,  and  the  procession 
started.  Saint-Saens,  in  the  volume  already  quoted,  says  : 

"  We  were  attired  in  ample  robes  of  silk,  parti-coloured 
scarlet  and  white,  with  full  sleeves,  and  on  our  heads 
college-caps  of  black  velvet  with  gold  tassels.  Thus 
decked  out,  we  walked  in  procession  through  the  town, 
under  a  tropical  sun.  At  the  head  of  the  group  of  doctors 
went  the  King  of  Bohonager  in  a  turban  of  cloth  of  gold, 

1  Portraits  et  Souvenirs,  Saint-Saens,  p.  141. 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  711 

sparkling  with  fabulous  jewels  and  a  diamond  necklace. 
Dare  I  confess  that,  as  the  enemy  of  the  commonplace, 
and  of  the  neuter  tints  of  our  modern  garb,  I  was 
enchanted  with  the  adventure? 

"  The  people  stood  on  each  side  of  the  railings,  and 
cheered  us  with  some  enthusiasm,  especially  Lord  Roberts." 

"  Meanwhile  the  Senate  House,  in  which  the  degrees 
were  conferred,  had  become  crowded  with  undergraduates 
and  guests.  The  former  were  not  merely  spectators,  but 
— as  we  afterwards  discovered — participated  in  the  event. 
When  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  other  members  of  the 
Senate  had  taken  their  places,  the  ceremony  began.  Each 
recipient  rises  in  turn  from  his  seat,  while  the  public 
orator  recounts  his  claims  to  recognition  in  a  Latin 
oration.  Here  the  undergraduates  begin  to  play  their 
part.  According  to  ancient  tradition,  they  are  allowed  to 
hiss,  cheer,  and  make  jokes  at  the  expense  of  the  new 
doctors.  At  every  joke  the  orator  waits  until  the  noise 
and  laughter  has  subsided,  then  continues  to  read  aloud. 
When  this  is  done,  the  recipient  is  led  up  to  the  Vice- 
Chancellor,  who  greets  him  as  doctor  in  nomine  Patri,  Filii 
et  Spiritus  Sancti.  This  formula  was  not  used  in  the  case 
of  the  Maharajah." 

The  oration  delivered  in  honour  of  Tchaikovsky  ran  as 
follows : — 

"  Russorum  ex  imperio  immense  hodie  ad  nos  delatus 
estviri  illustris,  Rubinsteinii,  discipulus  insignis,  qui  neque 
Italiam  neque  Helvetian!  inexploratam  reliquit,  sed  patriae 
carmina  popularia  ante  omnia  dilexit.  Ingenii  Slavonici  et 
ardorem  fervidum  et  languorem  subtristem  quam  feliciter 
interpretatur  !  Musicorum  modorum  in  argumentis  animo 
concipiendis  quam  amplus  est !  in  numeris  modulandis 
quam  distinctus !  in  flexionibus  variandis  quam  subtilis ! 
in  orchestrae  (ut  aiunt)  partibus  inter  se  diversis  una  com- 
ponendis  quam  splendidus !  Talium  virorum  animo  grato 
admiramur  ingenium  illud  facile  et  promptum,  quod,  velut 
ipsa  rerum  natura,  nulla,  necessitate  coactum  sed  quasi 
sua  sponte  pulcherrimum  quidque  in  luminis  oras  quotannis 
submittit. 


712  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  Audiamus  Propertium  : 

"  '  aspice  quot  submittit  humus  formosa  colores  ; 
et  veniunt  hederae  sponte  sua  melius.' 

"  Etiam    nosmet   ipsi   hodie   front!   tarn    felici   hederae 
nostrae  corollam  sponte  imponimus. 
"  Duco  ad  vos  Petrum  Tchaikovsky." 

After  the  ceremony  there  was  a  breakfast  given  by  the 
Vice-Chancellor,  at  which  all  attended  in  their  robes.  At 
the  end  of  the  meal,  in  obedience  to  the  tradition  of 
centuries,  a  loving-cup  was  passed  round. 

The  breakfast  was  followed  by  a  garden-party,  the 
hostess  being  the  wife  of  the  Vice-Chancellor. 

By  evening  Tchaikovsky  was  back  in  London,  where 
he  gave  a  farewell  dinner  to  some  of  his  new  friends. 
Among  these  I  must  mention  the  fine  baritone,  Eugene 
Oudin.  Tchaikovsky  was  soon  very  sincerely  attached 
to  him,  both  as  a  man  and  an  artist.  Upon  his  initiative 
Oudin  was  invited  to  sing  at  the  Symphony  Concerts  in 
Moscow  and  Petersburg. 

The  following  day  Tchaikovsky  left  for  Paris. 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"  PARIS,  June  yd  ( 1 5^),  1 893. 

"  Cambridge,  with  its  peculiar  customs  which  retain 
much  that  is  medieval,  with  its  colleges  that  resemble 
monasteries,  and  its  buildings  recalling  a  remote  past, 
made  a  very  agreeable  impression  upon  me." 

To  N.  Konradi. 

"  PARIS,  June  yd(\$th\  1893. 

"  At  Cambridge  I  stayed  with  Professor  Maitland.  This 
would  have  been  dreadfully  embarrassing  for  me,  if  he 
and  his  wife  had  not  proved  to  be  some  of  the  most 
charming  people  I  ever  met ;  and  Russophiles  into  the 
bargain,  which  is  the  greatest  rarity  in  England.  Now 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  713 

all  is  over,  it  is  pleasant  to  look  back  upon  my  visit  to 
England,  and  to  remember  the  extraordinary  cordiality 
shown  to  me  everywhere,  although,  in  consequence  of  my 
peculiar  temperament,  while  there,  I  tormented  and  worried 
myself  to  fiddle-strings." 


XVIII 

Tchaikovsky's  home-coming  was  by  no  means  joyful. 
The  shadow  of  death  was  all  around  him.  Hardly  had 
he  heard  of  the  death  of  his  old  friend  Karl  Albrecht 
than  a  "letter  from  the  Countess  Vassiliev-Shilovsky  in- 
formed him  that  her  husband  had  passed  away.  Besides 
this,  Apukhtin  lay  dying  in  Petersburg,  and  in  Moscow 
another  valued  friend,  Zvierev,  was  in  an  equally  hopeless 
condition. 

A  few  years  earlier  one  such  grief  would  have  affected 
Tchaikovsky  more  keenly  than  all  of  them  taken  together 
seemed  to  do  at  this  juncture.  Now  death  appeared  to 
him  less  enigmatical  and  fearful.  Whether  his  feelings 
were  less  acute,  or  whether  the  mental  sufferings  of  later 
years  had  taught  him  that  death  was  often  a  deliverance, 
I  cannot  say.  I  merely  lay  emphasis  on  the  fact  that, 
in  spite  of  the  discomforting  news  which  met  him  in  all 
directions,  from  the  time  of  his  return  from  England  to 
the  end  of  his  life,  Tchaikovsky  was  as  serene  and  cheerful 
as  at  any  period  in  his  existence. 

He  looked  forward  with  joy  to  meeting  his  nephew 
Vladimir  Davidov  at  Grankino,  in  the  government  of 
Poltava.  He  always  felt  well  in  the  glorious  air  of  the 
steppes. 

From  Grankino  he  went  to  stay  with  his  brother 
Nicholas  at  Oukolovo. 


;i4  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

«  July  19^(3^4  1893. 


"  I  spent  two  very  pleasant  days  in  Moscow.  Tell  Modi 
I  was  very  ill  the  day  after  he  left.  They  said  it  was  from 
drinking  too  much  cold  water  at  dinner  and  supper.  .  .  . 
The  day  after  to-morrow  I  start  upon  the  Symphony  again. 
I  must  write  letters  for  the  next  two  days." 

To  Modeste  Tchaikovsky. 

"July  22nd  (August  $rd],  1893. 

"  I  am  up  to  my  eyes  in  the  Symphony.  The  further  I 
go,  the  more  difficult  the  orchestration  becomes.  Twenty 
years  ago  I  should  have  rushed  it  through  without  a 
second  thought,  and  it  would  have  turned  out  all  right. 
Now  I  am  turning  coward,  and  have  lost  my  self- 
confidence.  I  have  been  sitting  all  day  over  two  pages, 
yet  they  will  not  come  out  as  I  wish.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
work  makes  progress,  and  I  should  not  have  done  so  much 
anywhere  else  but  at  home. 

"  Thanks  to  Alexis'  exertions,  my  house  has  a  very 
coquettish  appearance.  All  is  in  order  ;  a  mass  of  flowers 
in  the  garden,  good  paths,  and  a  new  fence  with  gates.  I 
am  well  cared  for.  And  yet  I  get  terribly  bored  unless 
I  am  working.  .  .  ." 

To  Vladimir  Davidov. 

«  August  yd(\$th\  1893. 

"  The  Symphony  which  I  intended  to  dedicate  to  you  — 
although  I  have  now  changed  my  mind1  —  is  progressing.  I 
am  very  well  pleased  with  its  contents,  but  not  quite  so  satis- 
fied with  the  orchestration.  It  does  not  realise  my  dreams. 
To  me,  it  will  seem  quite  natural,  and  not  in  the  least 
astonishing,  if  this  Symphony  meets  with  abuse,  or  scant 
appreciation  at  first.  I  certainly  regard  it  as  quite  the 
best  —  and  especially  the  *  most  sincere  '  —  of  all  my  works. 
I  love  it  as  I  never  loved  any  one  of  my  musical  offspring 
before." 

1  This  was  merely  a  playful  threat  because  his  nephew  had  neglected  to 
answer  his  letters. 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  715 

To  P.  Jurgenson. 

"KLIN,  August  i2th  (24^),  1893. 

"DEAR  FRIEND, — I  have  finished  the  orchestration  of 
the  new  Symphony.  ...  I  have  made  the  arrangement 
for  four  hands  myself,  and  must  play  it  through,  so  I  have 
asked  the  youngest  Konius  to  come  here,  that  we  may  try 
it  together.  As  regards  the  score  and  parts,  I  cannot  put 
them  in  order  before  the  first  performance,  which  takes 
place  in  Petersburg  on  October  i6th  (28th).  ...  On  my 
word  of  honour,  I  have  never  felt  such  self-satisfaction, 
such  pride,  such  happiness,  as  in  the  consciousness  that  I 
am  really  the  creator  of  this  beautiful  work." 

To  the  same. 
"  KLIN,  August  zoth  (September  ist),  1893. 

"  I  shall  take  the  Symphony  with  me  to  Petersburg 
to-day.  I  promise  not  to  give  away  the  score.  The 
arrangement  for  four  hands  needs  a  thorough  revision. 
I  have  entrusted  this  to  Leo  Konius.  I  wished  him  to 
receive  a  fee  of  at  least  100  roubles,  but  he  refused.  .  .  ." 

Tchaikovsky  spent  two  days  with  Laroche  in  Peters- 
burg. Even  the  prospect  of  his  journey  to  Hamburg  did 
not  suffice  to  damp  his  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  He  does 
not  appear  to  have  written  any  letters  during  his  absence 
from  Russia,  which  was  of  very  brief  duration. 

"  On  his  return  from  Hamburg  he  met  me  in  St.  Peters- 
burg," says  Modeste,  "  and  stayed  with  me  a  day  or  two. 
I  had  not  seen  him  so  bright  for  a  long  time  past.  He 
was  keenly  interested  in  the  forthcoming  season  of  the 
Musical  Society,  and  was  preparing  the  programme  of  the 
fourth  concert,  which  he  was  to  conduct. 

"  At  this  time  there  was  a  change  in  the  circumstances  of 
my  own  life.  Having  finished  the  education  of  N.  Konradi, 
I  decided  to  set  up  housekeeping  with  my  nephew  Vladimir 
Davidov,  who  had  completed  his  course  at  the  School  of 
Jurisprudence  and  was  now  an  independent  man.  My 


716  LIFE   AND    LETTERS   OF 

brother  was  naturally  very  much  interested  in  all  the 
arrangements  of  our  new  home. 

"  At  this  time  we  discussed  subjects  for  a  new  opera. 
Peter  Ilich's  favourite  author  in  later  life  was  George  Eliot. 
Once  during  his  travels  abroad  he  had  come  across  her 
finest  book,  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  and  from  that  time  he 
considered  she  had  no  rival  but  Tolstoi  as  a  writer  of 
fiction.  Adam  Bede,  Silas  Marner,  and  Middlemarch 
stirred  him  to  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  and  he  read  them 
over  and  over  again.  He  cared  less  for  Romola,  but  was 
particularly  fond  of  Scenes  from  Clerical  Life.  For  a  time 
he  seriously  contemplated  founding  the  libretto  of  his  next 
opera  upon  The  Sad  Fortunes  of  the  Rev.  Amos  Barton.  He 
wished  me  to  read  the  tale  and  give  him  my  opinion :  I 
must  confess  that,  from  his  own  account  of  it,  I  persuaded 
him  to  give  up  the  idea. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  I  actually  convinced  him,  or  whether 
he  lost  interest  in  it  himself,  but  he  never  referred  to  this 
tale  again  when  he  spoke  of  other  subjects  for  a  libretto. 

"  We  separated  early  in  September,  and  he  went  to  our 
brother  Anatol,  who  was  spending  the  summer  and  autumn 
with  his  family  at  Mikhailovskoe." 

Here  he  enjoyed  a  very  happy  visit.  "  It  is  in- 
describably beautiful,"  he  wrote  to  Modeste.  "It  is  alto- 
gether pleasant  and  successful.  The  weather  is  wonderful. 
All  day  long  I  wander  in  the  forest  and  bring  home  quan- 
tities of  mushrooms." 

His  high  opinion  of  the  new  Symphony  was  still  un- 
changed, for  he  wrote  to  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine 
Constantinovich  on  September  2ist  (October  3rd),  ''With- 
out exaggeration  I  have  put  my  whole  soul  into  this 
work."  Yet  in  spite  of  his  cheerful  attitude,  a  momentary 
cloud  of  depression  passed  over  him  at  this  time.  Writing 
to  Modeste  from  Moscow,  a  few  days  later,  he  says  :  "  Just 
lately  I  have  been  dreadfully  bored  and  misanthropical. 
1  do  not  know  why.  I  sit  in  my  room  and  see  no  one 
but  the  waiter.  I  long  for  home,  work,  and  my  normal 
existence." 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  717 

On  September  25th  he  returned  to  Klin  for  the  last 
time. 

To  Anna  Merkling. 

"September  2gth  (October  nth),  1893. 

"  I  am  now  very  busy  with  the  orchestration  of  the 
Pianoforte  Concerto.  I  shall  soon  appear  on  the  banks  of 
the  Neva.  You  will  see  me  about  the  loth." 

On  October  7th  (ipth)  Tchaikovsky  left  Klin  never  to 
return.  The  following  day  he  intended  to  be  present  at 
the  memorial  service  for  his  friend  Zvierev  and  then  to  go 
on  to  Petersburg.  As  the  train  passed  the  village  of 
Frolovskoe,  he  pointed  to  the  churchyard,  remarking  to 
his  fellow-travellers :  "  I  shall  be  buried  there,  and  people 
will  point  out  my  grave  as  they  go  by."  He  repeated  this 
wish  to  be  buried  at  Frolovskoe  while  talking  to  Taneiev 
at  the  memorial  service  for  Zvierev.  Beyond  these  two 
references  to  his  death,  prompted  no  doubt  by  the  sad 
ceremony  with  which  he  was  preoccupied,  Tchaikovsky 
does  not  appear  to  have  shown  any  symptoms  of  de- 
pression or  foreboding. 

Kashkin  has  given  the  following  account  of  his  friend's 
last  visit  to  Moscow  : — 

"  We  met  at  the  memorial  service  in  the  church,  and 
afterwards  Peter  Ilich  went  to  Zvierev's  grave.  On 
October  9th  (2ist)  he  had  promised  to  go  to  the  Con- 
servatoire to  hear  the  vocal  quartet  ('Night')  which  he 
had  arranged  from  Mozart's  pianoforte  Fantasia.  The 
master's  music  had  not  been  altered,  Tchaikovsky  had 
only  written  words  to  it.  ...  Madame  Lavrovsky  had 
promised  that  her  pupils  should  learn  the  work.  We 
assembled  in  the  concert  hall  of  the  Conservatoire,  and 
I  sat  with  Tchaikovsky.  The  quartet  was  beautifully 
sung  .  .  .  Tchaikovsky  afterwards  told  me  this  music  had 
the  most  indescribable  charm  for  him,  but  he  could  not 
explain,  even  to  himself,  why  this  simple  melody  gave  him 
such  pleasure.  .  .  . 


718  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

"At  that  time  Pollini,  the  Director  of  the  Hamburg  Opera, 
was  staying  in  Moscow.  He  was  an  ardent  admirer  of 
Tchaikovsky,  and  had  given  some  of  his  operas  in  Hamburg. 
When — as  invited — I  went  to  supper  with  Tchaikovsky  at 
the  Moscow  Restaurant,  I  met  Pollini,  Safonov,  and  two 
foreign  guests.  We  talked  over  Pollini's  idea  of  making  a 
great  concert  tour  through  Russia,  with  a  German  orchestra 
under  a  Russian  conductor  .  .  .  Tchaikovsky  was  to 
conduct  his  own  works  and  Safonov  the  rest  of  the  pro- 
gramme. .  .  .  After  the  others  had  gone,  and  Peter  Ilich 
and  I  were  left  to  ourselves,  he  told  me  all  about  Cambridge, 
and  spoke  very  warmly  of  the  Professor  in  whose  house 
he  had  stayed,  and  of  one  of  the  other  recipients  of  the 
honorary  degree — Arrigo  Boito,  who  had  charmed  him 
with  his  intellect  and  culture.  .  .  .  Unconsciously  the  talk 
turned  to  our  recent  losses  :  to  the  death  of  Albrecht  and 
Zvierev.  We  thought  of  the  gaps  time  had  made  in  our 
circle  of  old  friends  and  how  few  now  remained.  Involun- 
tarily the  question  arose  :  Who  will  be  the  next  to  take  the 
road  from  which  there  is  no  return  ?  With  complete 
assurance  of  its  truth,  I  declared  that  Tchaikovsky  would 
outlive  us  all.  He  disputed  the  probability,  but  ended  by 
saying  he  had  never  felt  better  or  happier  in  his  life.  He 
had  to  catch  the  night  mail  to  Petersburg,  where  he  was 
going  to  conduct  his  Sixth  Symphony,  which  was  still 
unknown  to  me.  He  said  he  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  first 
three  movements,  but  the  last  was  still  a  problem,  and 
perhaps  after  the  performance  in  Petersburg  he  should 
destroy  the  Finale  and  replace  it  by  another.  The  concert 
of  the  Musical  Society  in  Moscow  was  fixed  for  October 
23rd  (November  4th).  We  arranged,  if  we  should  not  see 
each  other  there,  to  meet  at  the  Moscow  Restaurant,  for 
Tchaikovsky  was  anxious  to  introduce  the  singer  Eugene 
Oudin  to  the  musical  circle  in  Moscow.  Here  our  conver- 
sation ended.  Tchaikovsky  went  to  the  station.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  to  see  him  off,  for  neither  of  us  cared  for 
that  kind  of  thing ;  besides,  we  should  meet  again  in  a 
fortnight.  We  parted  without  the  least  presentiment  that 
it  was  for  the  last  time." 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  719 


XIX 

Tchaikovsky  arrived  in  Petersburg  on  October  loth 
(22nd).  He  was  met  by  his  brother  Modeste  and  his 
favourite  nephew.  He  was  delighted  with  their  new  abode 
and  his  spirits  were  excellent — so  long  as  his  arrival 
remained  unknown  and  he  was  master  of  his  time. 

One  thing  only  depressed  him  :  at  the  rehearsals  the 
Sixth  Symphony  made  no  impression  upon  the  orchestra. 
He  always  set  store  by  the  opinion  of  the  musicians.  More- 
over, he  feared  lest  the  interpretation  of  the  Symphony 
might  suffer  from  their  coldness.  Tchaikovsky  only  con- 
ducted his  works  well  when  he  knew  they  appealed  to  the 
players.  To  obtain  delicate  nuances  and  a  good  balance 
of  tone  he  needed  his  surroundings  to  be  sympathetic  and 
appreciative.  A  look  of  indifference,  a  coolness  on  the 
part  of  any  of  the  band,  seemed  to  paralyse  him ;  he  lost 
his  head,  went  through  the  work  perfunctorily,  and  cut  the 
rehearsal  as  short  as  possible,  so  as  to  release  the  musicians 
from  a  wearisome  task.  Whenever  he  conducted  a  work 
of  his  own  for  the  first  time,  a  kind  of  uncertainty — almost 
carelessness — in  the  execution  of  details  was  apparent,  and 
the  whole  interpretation  lacked  force  and  definite  expres- 
sion. The  Fifth  Symphony  and  Hamlet  were  so  long 
making  their  way  merely  because  the  composer  had  failed 
to  make  them  effective.  The  same  reason  accounts  for 
the  failure  of  the  orchestral  ballade,  The  Voyevode. 

Tchaikovsky  was  easily  disenchanted  with  his  work  by 
the  adverse  opinion  of  others.  But  on  this  occasion  his 
judgment  remained  unshaken,  and  even  the  indifference  of 
the  orchestra  did  not  alter  his  opinion  that  this  Symphony 
was  "  the  best  thing  I  ever  composed  or  ever  shall  compose." 
He  did  not,  however,  succeed  in  convincing  the  public  or 
the  performers.  At  the  concert  on  the  i6th  (28th)  the 


720  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

work  fell  rather  flat.  It  was  applauded  and  the  composer 
was  recalled;  but  the  enthusiasm  did  not  surpass  what 
was  usually  shown  for  one  of  Tchaikovsky's  new  works. 
The  Symphony  produced  nothing  approaching  to  that 
powerful  and  thrilling  impression  it  made  shortly  after- 
wards (November  6th  (i8th),  1893)  under  Napravnik, 
which  has  since  been  repeated  in  so  many  other  cities. 

The  Press  did  not  speak  of  the  new  Symphony  with  as 
much  admiration  as  Tchaikovsky  had  expected,  but  on 
the  whole  the  notices  were  appreciative.  The  67.  Peters- 
burg Viedomosti  thought  "  the  thematic  material  of  the 
work  was  not  very  original,  the  leading  subjects  were 
neither  new  nor  significant.  The  last  movement,  Adagio 
Lamentoso,  was  the  best."  The  Syn  Otechestva  discovered 
a  phrase  in  the  first  movement  which  recalled  Gounod's 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  while  Grieg  was  reflected  in  the  Finale. 
The  Novoe  Vremya  said :  "  The  new  Symphony  is 
evidently  the  outcome  of  a  journey  abroad  ;  it  contains 
much  that  is  clever  and  resourceful  as  regards  orchestral 
colour,  besides  grace  and  delicacy  (in  the  two  middle 
movements),  but  as  far  as  inspiration  is  concerned  it  stands 
far  below  Tchaikovsky's  other  Symphonies.  Only  one  news- 
paper, The  Birjevya  Viedomosti,  spoke  of  the  work  in 
terms  of  unqualified  praise,  while  finding  fault  with  the 
composer's  conducting  of  the  work. 

The  morning  after  the  concert  I  found  my  brother 
sitting  at  the  breakfast-table  with  the  score  of  the  Sym- 
phony before  him.  He  had  agreed  to  send  it  to  Jurgenson 
in  Moscow  that"  very  day,  and  could  not  decide  upon  a 
title.  He  did  not  wish  to  designate  it  merely  by  a 
number,  and  had  abandoned  his  original  intention  of 
calling  it  "  a  programme  Symphony."  "  Why  programme," 
he  said, "  since  I  do  not  intend  to  expound  any  meaning  ?  " 
I  suggested  "  tragic  Symphony  "  as  an  appropriate  title. 
But  this  did  not  please  him  either.  I  left  the  room  while 
Peter  Ilich  was  still  in  a  state  of  indecision.  Suddenly 


PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 


721 


the  word  "  pathetic "  occurred  to  me,  and  I  returned  to 
suggest  it.  I  remember,  as  though  it  were  yesterday, 
how  my  brother  exclaimed  :  "  Bravo,  Modeste,  splendid ! 
Pathetic  !  "  Then  and  there,  in  my  presence,  he  added  to 
the  score  the  title  by  which  the  Symphony  has  always 
been  known.1 

I  do  not  relate  this  incident  in  order  to  connect  my 
name  with  this  work.  Probably  I  should  never  have 
mentioned  it  but  for  the  fact  that  it  serves  to  illustrate  in 
a  simple  way  how  far  the  conjectures  of  the  most  en- 
lightened commentators  may  wander  from  the  truth. 

Hugo  Riemann,  in  his  thematic  analysis  of  the  Sixth 
Symphony,  sees  the  solution  of  this  title  in  "  the_striking 
resemblance  between  the  fundamental  idea  of  this  work 
and  the  chief  subject  of  Beethoven's  Sonata  Pathetique" 
of  which  Tchaikovsky  never  dreamed  : 


Tchaikovsky. 


Beethoven. 


After  having  despatched  the  score  to  Moscow  with  this 
title,  Tchaikovsky  changed  his  mind,  as  may  be  seen  from 
the  following  letter  to  Jurgenson  : — 

"October  iStfi,  1893. 

"Be  so  kind  as  to  put  on  the  title  page  what  stands 

below.  .  .; 

lo  viaaumr  Lvovicn 

Davidov 
(No.  6) 

Composed  by  P.  T. 
"  I  hope  it  is  not  too  late. 

1  There  was  no  other  witness  of  this  incident  but  myself.  But  it  is  clear 
from  the  programme  of  the  concert  of  October  i6th  (28th)  that  this  title  had 
not  then  been  given  to  the  work.  Moreover,  anyone  can  see  by  a  glance  at  the 
title-page  that  this  name  was  written  later  tnau  the  rest. 


722  LIFE    AND   LETTERS   OF 

"  It  is  very  strange  about  this  Symphony.  It  was  not 
exactly  a  failure,  but  was  received  with  some  hesitation. 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  am  prouder  of  it  than  of  any 
of  my  previous  works.  However,  we  can  soon  talk  it  over 
together,  for  I  shall  be  in  Moscow  on  Saturday." 

At  this  time  he  talked  a  great  deal  about  the  re- 
modelling of  The  Oprichnik  and  The  Maid  of  Orleans, 
which  he  had  in  view  for  the  immediate  future.  He  did 
not  confide  to  me  his  intentions  as  to  the  former  opera ; 
but  as  regards  The  Maid  of  Orleans^  we  discussed  the 
alteration  of  the  last  scene,  and  I  made  a  point  of  his 
arranging  this,  like  so  many  other  parts  of  the  opera,  from 
Schiller's  poem.  The  idea  seemed  to  interest  him,  but  it 
was  not  permitted  to  him  to  come  to  a  definite  conclusion 
on  the  subject. 

During  these  last  days  he  was  neither  very  cheerful,  nor 
yet  depressed.  In  the  circle  of  his  intimate  friends  he 
was  contented  and  jovial ;  among  strangers  he  was,  as 
usual,  nervous  and  excited  and,  as  time  went  on,  tired  out 
and  dull.  But  nothing  gave  the  smallest  hint  of  his 
approaching  end. 

On  Tuesday,  October  ipth  (3ist),  he  went  to  a  private 
performance  of  Rubinstein's  The  Maccabees.  On  the  2Oth 
(November  ist)  he  was  still  in  good  health  and  dined  with 
his  old  friend  Vera  Boutakov  (nee  Davidov).  Afterwards 
he  went  to  see  Ostrovsky's  play,  A  Warm  Heart,  at  the 
Alexander  Theatre.  During  the  interval  he  went  with 
me  to  see  the  actor  Varlamov  in  his  dressing-room.  The 
conversation  turned  upon  spiritualism.  Varlamov  de- 
scribed in  his  own  humorous  style — which  cannot  be 
transferred  to  paper — his  loathing  for  "  all  those  abomi- 
nations "  which  reminded  one  of  death.  Peter  Ilich  laughed 
at  Varlamov's  quaint  way  of  expressing  himself. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time,"  said  Tchaikovsky,  "  before  we 
need  reckon  with  this  snub-nosed  horror  ;  it  will  not  come 
to  snatch  us  off  just  yet !  I  feel  I  shall  live  a  long  time." 


PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY  723 

From  the  theatre,  Tchaikovsky  went  with  his  nephews, 
Count  Litke  and  Baron  Buxhovden,  to  the  Restaurant 
Leiner.  I  joined  them  an  hour  later,  and  found  one  or  two 
other  visitors — of  whom  Glazounov  was  one.  They  had 
already  had  their  supper,  and  I  was  afterwards  told  my 
brother  had  eaten  macaroni  and  drunk,  as  usual,  white 
wine  and  soda  water.  We  went  home  about  two  a.m. 
Peter  Ilich  was  perfectly  well  and  serene. 

On  the  morning  of  Thursday,  October  2ist  (November 
2nd),  Tchaikovsky  did  not  appear  as  usual  at  the  early 
breakfast-table.  His  brother  went  to  his  room  and  found 
him  slightly  indisposed.  He  complained  of  his  digestion 
being  upset  and  of  a  bad  night.  About  eleven  a.m.  he 
dressed  and  went  out  to  see  Napravnik.  Half  an  hour  later 
he  returned,  still  feeling  unwell.  He  absolutely  declined 
to  send  for  a  doctor.  His  condition  gave  no  anxiety  to 
Modeste,  who  had  often  seen  him  suffer  from  similar 
derangements. 

He  joined  his  brother  and  nephew  at  lunch,  although  he 
ate  nothing.  But  this  was  probably  the  fatal  moment  in 
his  indisposition  for,  while  talking,  he  poured  out  a  glass 
of  water  and  drank  a  long  draught.  The  water  had  not 
been  boiled,  and  they  were  dismayed  at  his  imprudence. 
But  he  was  not  in  the  least  alarmed,  and  tried  to  calm  their 
fears.  He  dreaded  cholera  less  than  any  other  illness. 
After  this  his  condition  grew  worse ;  but  he  attributed  all 
his  discomfort  to  a  copious  dose  of  Hunyadi  which  he  had 
taken  earlier  in  the  day,  and  still  declined  to  send  for  his 
favourite  doctor,  Bertenson.  Towards  evening  Modeste 
grew  so  anxious  that  he  sent  for  the  doctor  on  his  own 
account.  Meanwhile  Tchaikovsky  was  tended  by  his 
brother's  servant  Nazar,  who  had  once  travelled  with  him 
to  Italy. 

About  eight  p.m.  Bertenson  arrived.  He  saw  at  once  that 
the  illness  was  serious,  and  sent  for  his  brother  in  consulta- 
tion. The  sufferer  had  grown  very  weak,  and  complained 


724  LIFE   AND   LETTERS   OF 

of  terrible  oppression  on  his  chest.  More  than  once  he 
said,  "  I  believe  this  is  death." 

After  a  short  consultation  the  brothers  Bertenson,  the 
two  leading  physicians  in  Petersburg,  pronounced  it  to  be 
a  case  of  cholera. 

All  night  long  those  who  nursed  him  in  turn  fought 
against  the  cramps ;  towards  morning  with  some  hope  of 
success.  His  courage  was  wonderful,  and  in  the  intervals 
between  the  paroxysms  of  pain  he  made  little  jokes  with 
those  around  him.  He  constantly  begged  his  nurses  to 
take  some  rest,  and  was  grateful  for  the  smallest  service. 

On  Friday  his  condition  seemed  more  hopeful,  and  he 
himself  believed  he  had  been  "  snatched  from  the  jaws  of 
death."  But  on  the  following  day  his  mental  depression 
returned.  "Leave  me,"  he  said  to  his  doctors,  "you  can 
do  no  good.  I  shall  never  recover." 

Gradually  he  passed  into  the  second  stage  of  the  cholera, 
with  its  most  dangerous  symptom — complete  inactivity  of 
the  kidneys.  He  slept  more,  but  his  sleep  was  restless, 
and  sometimes  he  wandered  in  his  mind.  At  these  times 
he  continually  repeated  the  name  of  Nadejda  Filaretovna 
von  Meek  in  an  indignant,  or  reproachful,  tone.  Conscious- 
ness returned  at  longer  intervals,  and  when  his  servant 
Alexis  arrived  from  Klin  he  was  no  longer  able  to  recog- 
nise him.  A  warm  bath  was  tried  as  a  last  resource,  but 
without  avail,  and  soon  afterwards  his  pulse  grew  so  weak 
that  the  end  seemed  imminent.  At  the  desire  of  his 
brother  Nicholas,  a  priest  was  sent  for  from  the  Isaac 
Cathedral.  He  did  not  administer  the  sacrament,  as 
Tchaikovsky  was  now  quite  unconscious,  but  prayed  in 
clear  and  distinct  tones,  which,  however,  did  not  seem  to 
reach  the  ears  of  the  dying  man. 

At  three  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  October  25th 
(November  6th)  Tchaikovsky  passed  away  in  the  presence 
of  his  brothers  Nicholas  and  Modeste,  his  nephews  Litke, 
Buxhovden,  and  Vladimir  Davidov,  the  three  doctors,  and 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY  725 

his  faithful  servant  Alexis  Safronov.  At  the  last  moment 
an  indescribable  look  of  clear  recognition  lit  up  his  face — 
a  gleam  which  only  died  away  with  his  last  breath. 


My  work  is  finished.  With  this  account  of  Tchaikovsky's 
last  moments  my  task,  which  was  to  express  the  man,  is 
accomplished. 

To  characterise  the  artist  in  every  phase  of  his  develop- 
ment, and  to  determine  his  position  in  the  history  of 
music,  is  beyond  my  powers.  If  all  the  documental  and 
authentic  evidence  I  have  collected  in  this  book  should 
serve  as  fundamental  material  for  another  writer  capable 
of  fulfilling  such  a  task,  the  most  cherished  aim  of  all  my 
efforts  will  have  been  attained. 

MODESTE   TCHAIKOVSKY 

ROME,  1902 


APPENDIX    A 


CHRONOLOGICAL    LIST    OF   TCHAIKOVSKY'S 
COMPOSITIONS   FROM    1866-1893 

FIRST  SEASON,  1866-1867 

1.  Op.    15.      Festival   Overture   upon   the   Danish   National 
Hymn;  completed  October,  1866.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.   13.     Symphony  in  G  minor,  No.  i,  "Winter  Dreams." 
Begun  in  March,  completed  in  November,  1866.     Jurgenson. 

3.  Op.  i.    Russian  Scherzo  and  Impromptu.    Composed  early 
in  1867.     The  first  of  these  compositions  was  originally  entitled 
"  Capriccio."     It  is  based  on  the  first  theme  of  the  Andante  in  the 
quartet  in  B  major,  which  Tchaikovsky  composed  while  still  at 
the  Conservatoire  in  1865.     The  theme  itself  is  a  Malo-Russian 
folksong,  heard  at  Kamenka.     The  Impromptu — a  still  earlier 
work — was  never  intended  for  publication.     It  chanced  to  be  in 
the  same  manuscript-book  as  the  Capriccio,  which  was  given  to 
Jurgenson  by  Rubinstein,  without  any  intimation  that  the  Im- 
promptu was  not  to  be  published.     The  Russian  Scherzo  was 
performed  at  Rubinstein's  concert  in  1867.     Both  these  works — 
like  the  First  Symphony — were  dedicated  to  Nicholas  Rubin- 
stein, and  published  by  Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.  2.     Souvenir  de  Hapsal — three  pianoforte  pieces :  (a) 
"  The  Ruin,"  (b)  "  Scherzo,"  (c)  "  Chant  sans  Paroles."   June  and 
July,  1867.    Hapsal.     Only  the  first  and  third  of  these  pieces  were 
composed  at  Hapsal ;  the  second  dates  back  to  the  days  of  the 
Conservatoire.     This  opus  number  is  dedicated  to  Vera  Davidov. 
Jurgenson.     Besides  these  works,  Tchaikovsky  was  engaged  from 
the  beginning  of  1867  upon  his  opera,  The  Voyevode. 

726 


APPENDIX    A  727 

1867-1868 

The  Voyevode  was  the  sole  work  of  this  season. 

In  a  letter  dated  November  25th  (December  7th)  Tchaikovsky 
speaks  of  having  completed  the  third  act,  which  is  as  good  as 
saying  that  he  had  finished  the  whole  opera,  because  he  rarely 
broke  through  his  custom  of  working  straight  through  a  composi- 
tion. The  instrumentation  remained,  and  this  was  finished  in 
Paris  during  the  summer. 

The  Voyevode^  or  A  Dream  on  the  Volga,  is  a  play  in  five  acts, 
with  a  prologue,  by  A.  N.  Ostrovsky.  The  opera  libretto  is  con- 
densed into  three  acts,  the  prologue  being  omitted. 

The  chief  beauty  of  the  play,  the  scenes  from  national  life,  so 
charmingly  depicted  by  Ostrovsky,  had  been  ruthlessly  cut  out  of 
the  libretto,  and  only  an  insipid  and  uninteresting  story  left. 
The  charm  of  national  colour,  the  characteristic  details  of  the 
secondary  dramatis  persona,  such  as  Nedviga,  the  apparition  of 
the  Domovoi,  or  "house  spirit,"  the  gloomy  figure  of  Mizgir — 
of  all  these  things  the  libretto  had  been  completely  denuded. 

But  it  was  not  so  much  Ostrovsky  as  Tchaikovsky  who  was  to 
blame,  for  it  is  evident  from  the  manuscript  which  the  latter  used 
while  composing  the  music  that  he  eliminated  every  episode 
which  did  not  bear  directly  upon  the  tale.  A  few  years  later 
Tchaikovsky  would  not  have  missed  so  many  good  opportunities 
of  effective  musical  illustration. 

Ostrovsky's  collaboration  was  practically  limited  to  Act  I., 
which  is  also  the  best,  and  to  a  portion  of  Act  II.  The  re- 
mainder is  almost  entirely  of  Tchaikovsky's  own  writing. 

Of  this  opera  only  the  "  Dances  of  the  Serving  Maids  "  and 
the  "  Entr'acte  "  were  published  as  Op.  3.  Jurgenson.  The  rest 
of  the  score  was  destroyed  by  the  composer  during  the  seventies. 
The  orchestral  and  choral  parts  and  some  of  the  solos — unfortu- 
nately not  the  principal  ones — are  still  preserved  in  the  library 
of  the  Imperial  Opera  House  in  Moscow. 

1868-1869 

i.  Op.  77.  Symphonic  Poem,  Fatum.  Begun  about  the 
middle  of  September,  1.868.  Sketch  completed  on  October  2ist 


728  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

(November  2nd).  Orchestrated  in  November  and  December. 
Produced  for  the  first  time  by  the  Musical  Society  in  Moscow, 
February  25th  (March  9th),  1869,  conducted  by  N.  Rubinstein. 
This  work  is  dedicated  to  M.  A.  Balakirev.  During  the  seventies 
Tchaikovsky  destroyed  the  score,  but  the  orchestral  parts  re- 
mained intact,  and  the  work  was  reconstructed  from  these,  and 
published  in  1896,  by  Belaiev,  in  Leipzig. 

2.  Op.  4.  Valse  Caprice  for  pianoforte.   Composed  in  October, 
1868.     Dedicated  to  Anton  Door.     Jurgenson. 

3.  Op.  5.    Romance  for  pianoforte.    November,  1868.     Dedi- 
cated to  Desiree  Artot.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Twenty-five  Russian  folksongs,  arranged  for  pianoforte,  four 
hands.     These  were  probably  finished  during  the  autumn  months, 
and  printed  in  November,  1868. 

5.  Recitatives  and  choruses  for  Le  Domino  JVoir,  by  Auber. 
This  work  has  entirely  disappeared ;  it  cannot  be  found  in  the 
library  of  the  Petersburg  or  Moscow  Opera. 

6.  Undine,  an  opera  in  three  acts,  begun  in  January  and  com- 
pleted in  July,  1869.     The  text  by  Count  Sollogoub. 

The  libretto  of  Undine  contained  scenes  more  interesting  and 
grateful  for  musical  treatment  than  The  Voyevode,  but  was  so 
unskilfully  put  together  and  so  lacking  in  logical  sequence  that  it 
is  even  inferior  to  the  dry,  uninteresting,  but  literary  verse  of  the 
latter.  The  music— judging  from  the  fragments  that  have  been 
preserved — seems  to  have  possessed  a  certain  vitality. 

The  composer  destroyed  the  score  of  Undine  in  1873.  All 
that  remains  of  the  music  is  Undine's  aria,  "  The  spring  is  my 
brother,"  which  was  afterwards  utilised  in  Sniegourochka,  and  the 
Wedding  March  in  the  last  act,  which  Tchaikovsky  employed  in 
the  Andantino  Marziale  of  his  Second  Symphony.  Besides  these 
two  fragments,  Kashkin  says  an  Adagio  in  the  ballet,  "  The 
Swan  Lake,"  was  originally  the  love-duet  between  Gulbrand  and 
Undine. 

Part  of  this  opera  was  produced  at  a  concert  given  by  the 
Capellmeister  Merten,  March  i6th  (28th),  1870.  Laroche 
wrote : — 

"  Unfortunately,  I  was  not  able  to  attend  the  concert  itself, 
but  I  had  heard  these  fragments  from  Undine  at  the  rehearsals, 


APPENDIX   A  729 

and  observed  not  only  the  careful  and  delicate  orchestration  for 
which  Tchaikovsky's  music  is  remarkable,  but  picturesque  sug- 
gestions of  the  fantastic  realms  of  the  water  sprites.  Other 
parts — notably  the  finale — appeared  to  me  lacking  in  spontaneity. 
On  the  whole,  however,  the  new  score  is  worthy  of  attention." 

1869-1870 

1.  Twenty-five  Russian  folksongs,  arranged  for  pianoforte,  four 
hands.     Completed  September  25th,  1869.     Published,  together 
with  the  twenty-five  of  the  previous  year,  by  Jurgenson,  Moscow. 

2.  Romeo  and  Juliet.    Overture-Fantasia  for  orchestra,  founded 
on  Shakespeare's  tragedy.    Begun  September  25th  (October  yth); 
sketch  completed  by  October  yth  (iQth),  and  orchestrated  by 
November  i5th  (27th),  1869.     During  the  summer  of  1870  the 
work  was  completely  revised.     According  to  Kashkin,  the  Intro- 
duction was  entirely  new ;  the  funeral  march  at  the  close  of  the 
work  was  omitted  and  a  fresh  ending  substituted  for  it,  while 
many  alterations  were  made  in  the  orchestration  as  a  whole. 
The  overture  is  dedicated  to  Mily  Alexandrovich  Balakirev,  and 
was  performed  for  the  first  time  at  Moscow,  under  the  baton  of 
N.  Rubinstein,  March  4th  (i6th),  1870.     Published  by  Bote  and 
Bock,  Berlin,  1871. 

3.  Pianoforte  arrangement  for  four  hands  of  the  overture  Ivan 
the  Terrible,  by  Anton  Rubinstein.     Bessel,  St.  Petersburg. 

4.  Op.  6.    Six  songs.1   Written  between  November  i5th  (27th) 
and   December    i9th   (sist),   1869.      (i)    "Glaub'   nicht   mein 
Freund,"   words    by    Count    A.    Tolstoi,   dedicated    to   A:    G. 
Menshikov.    (2)  "Nicht  Worte,"  words  by  Plestcheiev,  dedicated 
to  N.  Kashkin.     (3)  "  Wie  wehe,  wie  suss,"  words  by  Countess 
Rostopchin,  dedicated  to  A.  D.  Kochetov.     (4)  "Die  Thrane 
bebt,"  words  by  Count  A.  Tolstoi,  dedicated  to  P.  Jurgenson. 
(5)  "Warum,"  words  by  Mey,  dedicated  to  I.  Klimenko.     (6) 
"  Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht  kennt,"  words  by  Mey  (from  Goethe), 
dedicated  to  Madame  Khvostova.     P.  Jurgenson,  Moscow. 

5.  "  Chorus  of  Insects,"  from  the  unfinished  opera  Mandragora, 

1  As  several  English  versions  exist  of  many  of  Tchaikovsky's  songs,  and 
some  of  these  so-called  translations  have  not  even  titles  in  common  with  the 
original  texts,  it  is  less  misleading  to  keep  to  the  German  titles. — R.  N. 


730  PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

January  i3th  (25th),  1870.  The  score  of  this  work  has  been 
entirely  lost.  The  pianoforte  arrangement  is  preserved  by 
Jurgenson.  In  1898  Glazounov  orchestrated  it. 

6.  Op.  7.     Valse  Scherzo  (A  major)  for  pianoforte,  dedicated 
to  Alexandra  Ilinichna  Davidov.     P.  Jurgenson. 

7.  Op.   8.      Capriccio   (G   flat)   for   piano,  dedicated   to    K. 
Klindworth.     P.  Jurgenson.     Both  these  pieces  were  completed 
about  February  3rd  (i5th),  1870. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  began  his  opera,  The  Oprich- 
nik,  about  the  end  of  January,  1870. 

1870-1871 

1.  Op.  9.    Three  pianoforte  pieces,    (i)  "Reverie,"  dedicated 
to  N.  Murometz.     (2)  "Polka  de  Salon,"  dedicated  to  A.  Zograf. 
(3)  "  Mazurka  de  Salon,"  dedicated  to  A.  L.  Dubuque. 

2.  Song,  "So  schnell  vergessen,"  words  by  Apukhtin.     This 
and  the  above  works  were  composed  before  October  26th  (Novem- 
ber 7th),  1870,  and  published  by  Jurgenson,  Moscow. 

3.  "Nature  and  Love."     Trio  for  two  sopranos  and  one  con- 
tralto, with  chorus  and  pianoforte  accompaniment ;  dedicated  to 
Madame  Valzek.     It  was  composed  in  December  expressly  for 
this  lady's  pupils,  and  performed  for  the  first  time  at  Tchai- 
kovsky's concert  on  March  i6th  (28th),  1871.     It  was  published 
by  Jurgenson  after  the  composer's  death. 

4.  Op.   ii.     Quartet  No.  i  (D  major),  for  two  violins,  viola, 
and  violoncello.      Dedicated  to  Serge  Rachinsky.     Composed 
during  February,   1871,  and  first  performed  at  the  composer's 
concert,  March  i6th  (28th),  1871.     The  Andante  of  this  quartet 
is  based  on  a  Russian  folksong  which  Tchaikovsky  wrote  down  at 
Kamenka  in  the  summer  of  1869.    It  was  sung  in  Great  Russian 
by  a  man  who  was  working  outside  the  room  in  which  he  was 
engaged  in  orchestrating  his  Undine. 

5.  A  Course  of  Harmony,  completed  during  the  summer  at 
Nizy.     Jurgenson. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  was  working  during  the  whole 
of  this  period  on  his  opera,  The  Oprichnik. 


APPENDIX    A  731 

1871-1872 

1.  Op.     10.      Two     pianoforte     pieces:     "Nocturne"     and 
"  Humoresque."    Probably  composed  in  December,  1871,  during 
his  stay  at  Nice.     Part  of  the  second  piece  consists  of  a  French 
popular  song.      These  pieces  are  both  dedicated  to   Vladimir 
Shilovsky. 

2.  Cantata   for   chorus,  orchestra,  and  tenor  solo.     Text  by 
Polonsky.     Composed  during  February  and  March,  1872.     Per- 
formed May  3ist  (June  i2th),  1872,  under  the  conductorship  of 
K.  Davidov.    The  manuscript  of  the  score  is  in  the  library  of  the 
Imperial  Opera  House,  Moscow. 

3.  The  Oprichnik)  an  opera  in  four  acts.     Begun  at  the  end  of 
January,   1870,   completed   in  April,    1872.     Dedicated  to  His 
Imperial  Highness  the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  Nicholaevich. 
Published  by  Bessel,  St.  Petersburg. 

Without  entering  into  a  detailed  criticism  of  Lajetnikov's  tragedy, 
I  must  call  attention  to  some  of  its  features  which  are  calculated 
to  make  it  an  easy  subject  for  the  librettist  to  handle;  these 
special  features  lie  in  its  admirable  plot.  The  interest  of  the  love- 
intrigue,  which  is  well  sustained,  a  whole  series  of  effective 
situations,  the  dark  yet  poetic  colouring  of  its  sinister  period 
(Ivan  the  Terrible),  the  variety  of  episodes  well  suited  to  musical 
illustration  (such  as  the  love-duet  in  the  first  act,  the  scenes  with 
the  populace,  the  picturesque  figures  of  the  Oprichniks,  the  pathos 
of  the  oath  scene,  "The  Terrible"  himself,  and  the  death  of 
Andrew),  all  contribute  to  make  an  effective  and  moving  opera. 

But  it  did  not  fulfil  these  expectations.  The  most  serious 
hindrance  came  from  the  Censor.  The  striking  figure  of  Ivan 
the  Terrible,  which  seemed  so  well  adapted  to  musical  representa- 
tion, was  not  permitted  to  appear.  For  an  outline  of  the  plot  of 
this  opera,  see  Appendix  B. 

1872-1873 

i.  Op.  17.  Symphony  No.  2  (C  minor),  composed  during 
June,  July,  and  August,  1872.  Orchestrated  in  September  and 
October  of  the  same  year,  and  completed  early  in  November. 


732  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

Dedicated  to  the  Moscow  section  of  the  Imperial  Russian  Musical 
Society.  First,  performed,  under  N.  Rubinstein,  in  Moscow, 
January  26th  (February  7th),  1873.  Published  by  V.  Bessel,  St. 
Petersburg.  The  second  movement,  Andantino  Marziale,  is 
taken  from  the  opera  Undine.  Speaking  of  this  work,  Kashkin 
says,  "It  may  be  called  'The  Little  Russian'  Symphony,  because 
its  chief  themes  are  Little  Russian  folksongs."1  Later  on  the 
composer  made  considerable  alterations,  and  entirely  rewrote  the 
first  movement. 

2.  Op.  1 6.     Six  songs,     (i)  "  Wiegenlied,"  words  by  Maikov, 
dedicated  to  Frau  N.  N.  Rimsky-Korsakov.     (2)  "  Warte  noch," 
words  by  Grekov,  dedicated  to  N.  A.  Rimsky-Korsakov.      (3) 
"  Erfass  nur  einmal,"  words   by   Maikov,    dedicated   to   G.  A. 
Laroche.     (4)  "  Oh,  mochtest  du  einmal  noch  singen,"  words  by 
Plestcheiev,  dedicated  to  N.  A.  Hubert.    (5)  "  Was  nun  ?"  Words 
by  the  composer,  dedicated  to  N.  Rubinstein.      (6)  "  Neugrie- 
chisches  Lied,"  words  by  Maikov,   dedicated  to   K.   Albrecht. 
The  precise  date  of  these  songs  is  not  known.     Probably  they 
were  written  in  December,  1872.      Published  by  V.  Bessel,  St. 
Petersburg. 

3.  Op.   12.     Music  to  Sniegourochka,  a  Legend  of  Springtide^ 
by  A.  N.  Ostrovsky.      Composed  during  March  and  April,  1873. 
First  performed  at  the  Opera,  Moscow,  May  nth  (23rd),  1873. 
Jurgenson,  Moscow.     One   or   two   numbers   of  this   work  are 
transferred  from  Undine. 

4.  "  Perpetuum  mobile,"  from  a  sonata  by  Weber,  arranged  for 
the  left  hand  only.      Dedicated  to  Madame  Zograf.      Published 
l873>  by  Jurgenson. 

Besides   the   above,   Tchaikovsky  worked  at  the   symphonic 
fantasia,   The    Tempest^  between  August  yth-iyth  (i9th-29th), 

1873- 

His  literary  work  comprised  seventeen  articles,  in  which  he 
reviewed  the  chief  musical  events  of  the  season  in  Moscow. 

1  The  Introduction  is  the  Malo-Russian  variant  of  "  Down  by  Mother 
Volga,"  the  Finale  is  based  upon  a  popular  tune  called  "  The  Crane." — R.N. 


APPENDIX    A  733 


1873-1874 

1.  Op.  1 8.     The  Tempest ',  symphonic  fantasia  for  full  orchestra 
upon    a    Shakespearean   programme.     Composed   between    yth 
(iQth)  and  iyth  (291)1)  August,  1873;  orchestrated  by  October 
loth  (22nd).     Dedicated  to  Vladimir  Vassilievich  Stassov.     First 
performed   December   7th  (igth),    1873,  under  N.   Rubinstein. 
Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.  21.     Six  pianoforte  pieces  upon  a  theme,    (i)  Prelude, 
(2)  Fugue,  (3)   Impromptu,  (4)  Funeral  March,   (5)   Mazurka, 
(6)  Scherzo.    Dedicated  to  Anton  Rubinstein.    Composed  before 
October  3oth  (November  nth),  1873.     Bessel. 

3.  Op.  22.     Quartet  No.   2  (F  major),  for  two  violins,  viola, 
and  violoncello.     Dedicated  to  the  Grand   Duke  Constantine. 
Commenced  at  the  end  of  December,  1873,  or  early  in  January, 
1874,  and  finished  by  the  26th  of  that  month.    Shortly  afterwards 
it   was   played   at  a  musical  evening   at  N.  Rubinstein's,    and 
probably  Tchaikovsky  afterwards  made  some  changes  in  it,  as  he 
was  still  engaged  upon  the  work  in  the  middle  of  February. 
First  public  performance  March  loth  (22nd),  1874.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.   14.      Vakoula  the  Smith  (Kouznetz  Vakoula,  known 
also  as  Cherevichek  and  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane),  opera  in  three 
acts  and  seven  scenes.     The  libretto  is  taken  from  a  tale  by 
Gogol  and  set  to  verse  by  J.  Polonsky.    Dedicated  to  the  memory 
of  the  Grand  Duchess   Helena.     Composed  and   orchestrated 
during  the  summer  of  1874.     Partially  remodelled  about  1885. 
Published  by  Jurgenson. 

1874-1875 

i.  Op.  25.  Six  songs  :  (i)  "  Herz,  o  lass  dich  von  Schlummer 
umfangen,"  words  by  Scherbin,  dedicated  to  A.  P.  Kroutikov. 
(2)  "  Wie  hier  die  Schrift  in  Aschengluth,"  words  by  Tioutchev, 
dedicated  to  D.  Orlov.  (3)  "  Mignon's  Lied,"  words  by  Goethe, 
dedicated  to  M.  Kamenskaya.  (4)  "  Der  Kanarienvogel,"  words 
by  Mey,  dedicated  to  V.  Raab.  (5)  "  Mit  ihr  ein  Wort  gespro- 
chen  hab'  ich  me,"  words  by  Mey,  dedicated  to  I.  Melnikov. 
(6)  "  Einst  zum  Narren  Jemand  spricht,"  words  by  Mey.  These 


734  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

songs  were  probably  composed  in  September,  1874.     Published 
by  V.  Bessel. 

2.  Op.  19.     Six  pianoforte  pieces  :  (i)  "Reverie,"  dedicated  to 
N.   D.   Kondratiev.     (2)  "  Scherzo-humoristique,"  dedicated  to 
Vera  Timanov.    (3)  "  Feuillet  d'album,"  dedicated  to  A.  Abramov. 
(4)  "Nocturne,"  dedicated  to  Frau  Terminsky.     (5)  Capriccio, 
dedicated  to  E.  Langer.     (6)  "  Theme  avec  Variations,"  dedicated 
to  H.  Laroche.    The  manuscript  is  dated  October  27th  (November 
8th),  1873.     Jurgenson. 

3.  Op.  23.    Concerto  for  pianoforte  and  orchestra  (in  Bb  minor). 
Composed  in  November  and  December,  1874.    The  orchestration 
was  completed,  according  to  a  note  on  the  score,  February  gth 
(2ist),    1875.     Dedicated  to  Hans  von  Biilow.     Published  by 
Jurgenson.     In  a  letter  to  Frau  von  Meek,  Tchaikovsky  says  he 
took  as  the  principal  subject  of  the  first  movement  a  phrase  sung 
by  Malo-Russian  blind  beggars  at  a  village  fair  at  Kamenka. 

i 


Besides  the  example  just  quoted,  he  also  borrowed  another  air, 
the  chansonette,  "II  faut  s'amuser,  danser,  et  rire,"  which  the 
twins  used  to  hum  early  in  the  seventies,  in  remembrance  of 
a  certain  charming  singer. 

4.  Op.  26.    Serenade  for  violin,  with  orchestral  accompaniment 
(B  minor).     Composed  January,  1875.     Dedicated  to  L.  Auer. 
Jurgenson. 

5.  Op.    27.     Six   songs:    (i)    "An    den    Schlaf,"   words   by 
Ogariev.     (2)   "Ob   sich  die  Wolke  dort,"  words   by  Grekov. 
(3)  "  Geh'  nicht  von  mir,"  words  by  Fet.     (4)  "  Abend,"  words 
by  Chevchenko.    (5)  "  Klage,"  words  by  Mickiewicz.    (6)  "  Dem 
Voglein  gleich,"  words  by  Mickiewicz.     All   six   dedicated   to 
Madame  Lavrovskaya.     The  date  of  composition  not  precisely 
known.     Jurgenson. 

6.  Op.  28.     Six  songs:  (i)  "  Nein,  wen  ich  Hebe,"  words  from 
de  Musset,  dedicated  to  A.  Nikholaev.     (2)  "  Die  rothe  Perlen- 
schnur,';  words  by  Syrokomli,  dedicated   to    D.  Dodonov.     (3) 


APPENDIX   A  735 

"  Warum  im  Traume,"  words  by  Mey,  dedicated  to  Frau  Ilina. 
(4)  "  Er  liebte  mich  so  sehr,"  words  by  Apukhtin,  dedicated  to 
E.  Marsini.  (5)  "  Kein  Wort  von  Dir,"  words  by  Alexis  Tolstoi, 
dedicated  to  B.  Korsov.  (6)  "  Ein  einzig  Wortchen,"  text  by  P. 
Tchaikovsky,  dedicated  to  Frau  E.  Kadmina.  The  date  of  com- 
pletion is  given  on  the  manuscript  as  April  nth  (23rd),  1875,  in 
Moscow.  Jurgenson. 

7.  Op.  29.  Symphony  No.  3  (in  D  major)  in  five  move- 
ments. The  score  bears  the  following  note  in  the  composer's 
own  writing:  "Commenced  June  5th  (i7th)  at  Ussovo,  com- 
pleted August  ist  (i3th),  1875,  at  Verbovka."  Published  by 
Jurgenson.  Played  for  the  first  time  in  Moscow,  November  7th 
(i9th),  1875. 

Besides  the  above  works,  Tchaikovsky  was  engaged  during 
part  of  August,  1875,  upon  the  Ballet,  The  Swan  Lake. 

His  literary  activity  was  very  considerable.  Between  Sep- 
tember, 1874,  and  April,  1875,  he  wrote  not  less  than  fifteen 
articles. 

1875-1876 

1.  Op.  30.     Quartet  No.  3  in  E  flat  major,  for  two  violins, 
viola,  and  'cello,  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  F.  Laub.     The  first 
sketch  dates   from  the   beginning  of  January,    1876,  in  Paris. 
Finished,  according  to  date  upon  the  manuscript,  February  i8th 
(March   ist),   1876.     Performed  for  the  first  time  March   i8th 
(3oth)  of  the  same  year  at  Grijimaly's  concert.     Published  by 
Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.  20.    The   Swan  Lake.     Ballet   in   four   acts.     Begun 
August,  1875,  finished  at  the  end  of  March,  1876.     Published 
by  Jurgenson.     First  performance  at  the  Opera  House,  Moscow, 
February  2oth  (March  4th),  1877. 

3.  Op.  37.     The  Seasons,  twelve  pieces  for  piano.     These  were 
written  in  the  course  of  the  year,  one  piece  each  month,  and 
were  commissioned  by  the  publisher  of  a  St.  Petersburg  musical 
journal.     Kashkin  tells  us  that  Tchaikovsky  did  not  consider 
this  a  very  important  work,  but  in  order  not  to  miss  sending  each 
number  at  the  right  time,  he  ordered  his  servant  to  remind  him 


736  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

when  a  certain  date  came  round  in  each  month.  The  man 
carried  out  his  master's  order,  coming  at  the  right  day  with 
the  reminder :  "  Peter  Ilich,  is  it  not  time  to  send  to  St. 
Petersburg  ?  "  upon  which  Tchaikovsky  would  sit  down  at  once 
and  write  the  required  piece  without  a  pause.  Later  the  pieces 
were  collected  and  republished  by  Jurgenson. 

4  The  translation  of  the  libretto  and  arrangement  of  the 
recitatives  of  Mozart's  Figaro,  which  Tchaikovsky  undertook  (at 
the  desire  of  N.  Rubinstein)  for  a  performance  of  this  opera  by 
the  students  of  the  Conservatoire. 

This  season  Peter  Ilich  brought  his  literary  work  to  an  end. 
His  last  criticisms  dealt  with  Wagner's  Trilogy,  and  remained 
unfinished. 

1876-1877 

1.  Op.  31.     Slavonic  March  for  full  orchestra.     First  perform- 
ance in  November,    1877,  under  N.   Rubinstein's  baton,  at  a 
symphony  concert  in  Moscow.     Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.   32.     Francesco,  da  Rimini  (after    Dante),    symphonic 
fantasia  for  full  orchestra.     Dedicated  to  S.  I.  Taneiev.     Tchai- 
kovsky sketched  the  plan  of  this  work  during  his  visit  to  Paris  in 
the  summer  of  1876.     He  did  not  actually  work  at  the  composi- 
tion  until   the   end   of  September.     The   sketch   was   finished 
October  i4th  (26th),  the  orchestration  November  5th  (i7th). 
First  performance,  under  N.  Rubinstein,  at  a  symphony  concert, 
Moscow,  February  26th  (March  loth),  1877.     Jurgenson. 

3-  Op.  33.  Variations  on  a  Rococo  Theme,  for  violoncello  and 
orchestra.  Dedicated  to  G.  Fitzenhagen.  Composed  December, 
1876.  Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.  34.  Valse  Scherzo,  for  violin  and  orchestra.  Dedi- 
cated to  Joseph  Kotek.  Composed  early  in  January,  1877. 
Jurgenson. 

During  this  season  Tchaikovsky  sketched  out  his  Fourth 
Symphony  and  two-thirds  of  his  opera,  Eugene  Oniegin. 

1877-1878 

i.  Op.  36,  Symphony  No.  4  (F  minor),  in  four  movements. 
Dedicated  to  "  My  best  friend."  The  first  sketch  was  finished  in 


APPENDIX    A  737 

May,  1877.  On  August  nth  (23rd)  Tchaikovsky  began  the 
instrumentation  of  the  work,  and  completed  the  first  movement 
on  September  i2th  (24th).  After  an  interval  of  two  months  he 
returned  to  the  Symphony,  about  the  end  of  November.  The 
Andante  was  finished  on  December  i5th  (27th),  the  Scherzo  on 
the  2oth  (January  ist)  1878,  and  the  Finale  on  the  26th  (January 
7th,  1878).  The  first  performance  of  the  Symphony  took  place 
February  loth  (22nd),  1878,  at  a  concert  of  the  Russian  Musical 
Society,  conducted  by  N.  Rubinstein. 

2.  Op.   24,  Eugene  Oniegin,  lyric  scenes,  in  three  acts  and 
seven  scenes.    The  libretto  is  freely  arranged  from  Poushkin  by 
the  composer  himself  and  K.  S.  Shilovsky.     The  idea  of  this 
opera  originated  with  the  celebrated  singer,  Madame  E.  A.  Lav- 
rovsky. 

On  May  i8th  (soth),  1877,  Tchaikovsky  sketched  the  plan  for 
a  libretto. 

On  June  6th  (i8th)  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  (the 
Letter  Scene)  was  finished,  and  by  June  i5th  (27th)  the  entire 
act  was  complete.  By  June  2$rd  (July  5th),  two-thirds  of  the 
opera  were  ready.  After  a  month's  respite,  Tchaikovsky  returned 
to  the  work  at  Kamenka,  in  August,  and  completed  the  opera. 
Here  he  also  began  the  instrumentation.  During  September 
and  the  first  half  of  October  he  did  not  work  upon  it  at  all; 
afterwards  he  continued  the  instrumentation,  finishing  the  whole 
of  the  first  act  and  despatching  it  to  Moscow  by  the  23rd 
(November  4th).  In  November  Tchaikovsky  orchestrated  the 
first  scene  of  the  second  act.  The  whole  of  December,  was 
devoted  to  the  Fourth  Symphony.  On  January  2nd  (i4th)  he 
took  up  the  opera  once  more,  at  San  Remo,  and,  completed  it  by 
the  2oth  (February  ist)  of  this  month.  In  the  summer  of  1880, 
at  the  request  of  the  Director  of  the  Imperial  Opera,  Tchaikovsky 
added  an  tcossaise  to  the  first  scene  of  Act  II.  and  made  some 
slight  changes  in  the  Finale. 

The  first  performance  of  the  opera  took  place  on  March  J7th 
(2 Qth),  1879,  by  the  students  of  the  Moscow  Conservatoire,  in 
the  Small  Theatre.  For  an  account  of  the  plot,  see  Appendix  B. 

3.  Op.  38.  Six  songs,  dedicated  to  A.  Tchaikovsky,  (i)  "Don 
Juan's  Serenade,"  words  by  Count  A.  Tolstoi ;  (2)  "  Das  war  im 


738  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

ersten  Lenzesstrahl "  (A.  Tolstoi) ;  (3)  "  Im  erregenden  Tanze " 
(A.  Tolstoi);  (4)  "Ach  wenn  du  konntest"  (A.  Tolstoi);  (5) 
"  Aus  dem  Jenseits  "  (Lermontov) ;  (6)  "  Pimpinella  "  (Florentine 
song).  Published  by  P.  I.  Jurgenson,  Moscow. 

4.  Op.  40.  Twelve  pieces  for  pianoforte  (medium  difficulty), 
dedicated  to  M.  Tchaikovsky,  (i)  "Etude,"  (2)  "Chanson  triste," 
(3)  "Marche  funebre,"  (4)  "Mazurka  in  C  major,"  (5)  "Mazurka  in 
D  major/'  (6)  "Chant  sans  paroles,"  (7)  "  Au  village,"  (8)  "  Valse  in 
A  major,"  (9)  "Valse  in  A  major,"  (10)  "Danse  russe,"  (u) 
"Scherzo  in  F  major,"  (12)  "Reverie  interrompue."  Of  these 
pieces,  No.  12  was  composed  first.  The  middle  section  of  this 
piece  is  a  Venetian  song,  which  was  sung  almost  every  evening 
under  his  window  in  Venice.  The  other  pieces  date  from  various 
times,  the  "Danse  russe"  from  1876,  having  been  originally  in- 
tended as  a  number  for  the  Ballet,  The  Swan  Lake.  Jurgenson, 
Moscow. 

5-  Op-  37-     Sonata  for  pianoforte  (G  major),  in  four  move- 
ments.    Dedicated  to  Carl  Klindworth.     Commenced  early  in 
March,   1878,  at  Clarens,  and  completed  on  April  3oth  (May 
1 2th).     First  performed  in  public  by  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  in 
Moscow,  October  2ist  (November  2nd),  1879. 

6-  Op.  35.      Concerto  for  violin  and  orchestra.      Originally 
dedicated  to  L.  Auer.    Tchaikovsky  afterwards  substituted  the 
name  of  A.  Brodsky.      Begun  early  in  March,  1878,  at  Clarens, 
and  the  sketch  finished  by  the  i6th  (28th)  of  the  same  month. 
The  original  Andante  did  not  satisfy  the  composer,  who  wrote  a 
new  one.    The  instrumentation  was  completed  by  the  end  of  April. 
First  performance  by  A.  Brodsky,  in  Vienna  (1879).     Jurgenson. 

7.  Op.  42.     "  Souvenir  d'un  lieu  cher,"  three  pieces  for  violin 
and  pianoforte  accompaniment.    No.  i  is  the  original  Andante  of 
the  Violin  Concerto.    The  other  two  pieces  were  composed  at 
Brailov  about  the  end  of  May.     Jurgenson. 

8.  Op.  41.     The  Liturgy  of  St.  John  Chrysostom,  for  four-part 
mixed  chorus.    Commenced  May,  1878,  at  Kamenka,  and  finished 
on  the  27th  (June  8th)  at  Brailov.     Jurgenson. 

9-  Op.  39.  Kinderalbum,  twenty-four  easy  pieces  for  piano- 
forte (a  la  Schumann).  Dedicated  to  Volodya  Davidov.  P.  I. 
Jurgenson. 


APPENDIX   A  739 

10.  "  Skobeliev  March,"  composed  by  "  Sinopov."  Tchai- 
kovsky concealed  the  authorship  of  this  piece,  because  he  con- 
sidered it  of  no  value.  It  was  commissioned  by  Jurgenson  at 
the  end  of  April,  and  composed  at  Kamenka. 

Besides  these  works,  Tchaikovsky  translated  in  December, 
1877,  the  Italian  words  of  six  songs  by  Glinka,  and  wrote  the 
text  of  a  vocal  quartet,  also  by  Glinka. 

The  greater  part  of  his  First  Suite  was  also  completed  during 
August,  1878. 

1878-1879 

1.  Op.  43.     First  Suite,  for  full  orchestra,  in  six  movements. 
The  first  sketches  were  made  at  Verbovka  between  August  1 5th 

and  25th,  1878.  Originally  the  Suite  was  intended  to  have  five 
movements  only :  Introduction  and  Fugue,  Scherzo,  Andante, 
Intermezzo  ("Echo  du  bal"),  and  Rondo.  Of  these,  three  move- 
ments were  completed,  the  fourth  sketched  out,  and  the  fifth 
projected,  when  Tchaikovsky  laid  it  aside,  only  to  return  to  it  in 
November  while  in  Florence.  On  the  i3th  (25th)  of  this  month 
it  was  finished.  The  last  two  movements,  however,  received 
different  titles,  "  March  Miniature  "  (4th)  and  "  Giants'  Dance  " 
(5th).  In  August,  1879,  the  composer  added  a  sixth  movement, 
Divertimento.  The  work  was  first  performed  in  Moscow,  under 
Nicholas  Rubinstein.  Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  The  Maid  of  Orleans,  an  opera  in  four  acts  and  six  scenes, 
dedicated  to  E.  Napravnik. 

The  libretto  of  this  work  was  written  by  Tchaikovsky  himself. 
It  is  chiefly  based  upon  Joukovsky's  translation  of  Schiller's 
Maid  of  Orleans,  but  some  ideas  were  also  derived  from  Wallon, 
Barbier's  play,  and  the  libretto  of  Mermet's  opera  on  the  same 
subject.  It  is  a  pity  the  composer  did  nor  confine  himself  to 
Schiller's  work,  and  more  especially  as  regards  the  uninteresting 
and  gloomy  ending.  Shortly  before  his  death  Tchaikovsky 
frequently  spoke  of  altering  the  last  scene  and  substituting 
Schiller's  close.  With  this  intention,  he  purchased  the  works  of 
the  German  poet,  but  unfortunately  he  was  not  destined  to  read 
the  tragedy  again.  For  the  plot  of  The  Maid  of  Orleans,  see 
Appendix  B. 


740  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

1879-1880 

1.  Op.  44.     Second  Concerto,  for  pianoforte  and  orchestra,  in 
three  movements.     Dedicated  to  N.  Rubinstein.     Played  for  the 
first  time  in  public  on  May  22nd  (June  3rd),  1882,  by  S.  I. 
Taneiev.     Jurgenson. 

2.  The  revised  edition  of  the  Second  Symphony.     Published 
by  Bessel. 

3.  The  "  Italian  Capriccio,"  for  full  orchestra.     Dedicated  to 
K.  Davidov.     The  opening  fanfare  in  this  work  is  a  bugle  call  of 
the  Italian  cavalry,  which  Tchaikovsky  heard  every  evening  while 
living  in  the  Hotel  Constanzi,  next  to  the  barracks  of  the  Royal 
Cuirassiers.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Music  for  a  tableau  vivant :  "  Montenegro  at  the  moment 
of  receiving  the  news  of  war  between  Russia  and  Turkey.     A 
village  elder  reading  out  the  manifesto."     This  music  was  never 
performed,  as  the  projected  entertainment   fell  through.     The 
manuscript  has  entirely  disappeared. 

5.  Six  vocal  duets,  with   pianoforte  accompaniment.     Dedi- 
cated to  Tatiana  Davidov  :  (a)  "  Der  Abend,"  (b)  "  Ballade,"  (c) 
"Thranen,"  (d)  "Im  Garten,"  (e)  "  Leidenschaft,"  (/)  "Dam- 
merung."    Jurgenson. 

6.  Op.  47.     Seven   songs,    with    pianoforte    accompaniment. 
Dedicated   to   A.  V.   Panaiev:   (a)  "Wenn   ich   das   gewusst," 
(b)  "  Durch  die  Gefilde  des  Himmels,"    (c)  "  Der  Dammerung 
Schleier  sank,"  (d)  "  Schlaf  ein,  betriibtes  Lieb,"  (e)  "  Gesegnet 
sei  mir  Wald  und  Au,"  (f)  "Ob  Heller  Tag,"  (g)  "War  ich  nicht 
ein  Halm."     Jurgenson. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  revised  the  overture,  Jtomeo 
and  Juliet, 

1880-1881 

1.  Serenade  for  string  orchestra,  in  four  movements.   Dedicated 
to  Carl  Albrecht.     First  performance  January  i6th  (28th),  under 
the  direction  of  Erdmannsdorfer.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.  49.     The  Year  1812,  festival  overture  for  full  orchestra. 
Composed  for  the  consecration  of  the  Cathedral  of  the  Saviour, 
Moscow.     Jurgenson. 


APPENDIX    A  741 

Besides  the  above,  an  attempt  to  harmonise  the  Vesper  Service 
and  the  first  sketch  of  the  opera,  Mazeppa. 

1881-1882 

1.  Op.    50.     Trio    for    pianoforte,    violin,    and    violoncello. 
Dedicated  to  the  memory  of  a  great  artist  (N.  G.  Rubinstein). 
The  variation  theme  of  the  second  movement  is  a  reminiscence 
of  an  excursion  made  in  company  with  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  and 
other  colleagues  from  the  Moscow  Conservatoire,  shortly  after  the 
first  performance  of  Sniegourochka  (The  Snow  Maiden),  in  the 
spring  of  1873.     The  Trio  was  played  for  the  first  time  in  public 
on   October    i8th   (soth),    1882,    by   Taneiev,    Grijimaly,    and 
Fitzenhagen.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  An   attempt   to    harmonise    Divine    Service.     Setting    for 
mixed  chorus.     Seventeen  numbers.     Jurgenson. 

From  June  to  October  Tchaikovsky  was  occupied  in  editing 
the  works  of  Bortniansky. 

During  this  year  he  began  the  sketch  of  the  opera,  Mazeppa. 
By  the  middle  of  July  two  acts  were  completed. 

1882-1883 

1.  Op.  51.     Six  pieces  for  pianoforte:  (i)  "Valse  de  Salon," 
(2)  "  Polka  peu  dansante,"  (3)  "  Menuetto  scherzoso,"  (4)  "  Natha 
-Valse,"  (5)  "  Romance,"  (6)  "Valse  sentimentale." 

These  pieces  were  commissioned  by  the  brothers  Jurgenson 
and  composed  at  Kamenka  about  the  end  of  August. 

2.  Verses  upon  the  theme  of  the  "  Slavsia,"  from  Glinka's  A 
Life  for  the  Tsar,  winding  up  with  the  Russian  National  Anthem, 
for  chorus  and  orchestra. 

This  chorus  was  sung  by  7,500  students  in  Moscow,  May  loth 
(22nd),  1883,  at  the  moment  when  the  Emperor  Alexander  III. 
appeared  at  the  Red  Staircase  upon  his  solemn  entry  to  the 
Kremlin.  (Manuscript  only.) 

3.  Festal  Coronation  March  for  orchestra.     Commissioned  by 
the  city  of  Moscow,  first  performed  at  Sokolinky,  on  May  23rd 
(June  4th),  at  a  fete  in  honour  of  the  Coronation.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Mazeppa,   an   opera,   in  three  acts  and  six  scenes.     The 


742  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

subject  is  taken  from  Poushkin's  poem,  Poltava,  arranged  by 
Bourenin  and  the  composer  himself. 

The  opera  was  first  performed  at  the  Imperial  Opera,  Moscow, 
February  3rd  (i5th),  1884.  Jurgenson.  For  the  plot,  see 
Appendix  B. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  began  his  Second  Suite  for 
orchestra  during  the  summer  of  1883. 

1883  TO  JANUARY,  1885 

J-  Op.  53.  Suite  No.  2,  in  four  movements,  for  full  orchestra. 
Dedicated  to  Madame  P.  W.  Tchaikovsky.  First  performed  at 
an  extra  concert  of  the  Russian  Musical  Society,  February  4th 
(i6th),  1884,  in  Moscow,  under  the  direction  of  Max  Erdmanns- 
dorfer.  Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.  54.  Sixteen  Children's  Songs,  with  pianoforte  accom- 
paniment. Published  by  Jurgenson. 

3-  Op.  55.  Suite  No.  3,  in  four  movements,  for  full  orchestra. 
Dedicated  to  M.  Erdmannsdorfer.  First  performance  in  Peters- 
burg, in  January,  1885,  under  the  direction  of  Hans  von  Biilow. 
Published  by  Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.  56.     Fantasia  Concerto,  in  two  movements,  for  piano- 
forte, with  orchestral  accompaniment.     Originally  dedicated  to 
Madame  A.   Essipoff;  afterwards  to  Madame  Sophie  Menter. 
Played  for  the  first  time  by  S.  Taneiev,  February  22nd  (March 
6th),  1885,  in  Moscow.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

5.  Impromptu  Capriccio  for  pianoforte.    Dedicated  to  Madame 
S.  Jurgenson.    Originally  published  in  the  "  Subscribers'  Album" 
of  Paris  Gaulois.     Was  taken  over  later  by  Jurgenson. 

6.  Elegy  for  string  orchestra.    Composed  in  memory  of  the 
actor,  I.  Samarin.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

7.  Three  church  anthems.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

8.  Op.  57.   Six  songs,  with  pianoforte  accompaniment,   (i)  "O, 
sprich,  wovon  die  Nachtigall,"  (2)  "Auf's  bleiche  Herbstgefild," 
(3)  "O,  frage  nicht,"  (4)  "SchlaP  em,"  (5)  "Der  Tod,"  (6)  "Nur 
du  allein."     Published  by  Jurgenson.    Besides  the  above,  Tchai- 
kovsky had  been  working,  in  November,  1884,  at  the  reconstruc- 
tion of  his  opera,  Vakoula  the  Smith. 


APPENDIX   A 


743 


FROM  JANUARY  IST  TO  SEPTEMBER  i2TH,  1885 

1.  Remodelling  the  opera  Vakoula  the  Smith  as  Les  Caprices 
tfOxane.     Besides  simplifying  the    orchestration  and   harmony 
and  cutting  down  the  work,  as  he  first  proposed,  Tchaikovsky 
also  introduced  some  entirely  new  numbers:  (i)  the  duet  be- 
tween Vakoula  and  Oxane  and  the  Finale  of  the  second  scene 
in  first  act,  (2)  the  Schoolmaster's  song,  (3)  the  quintet  in  the 
first  scene   of   the  second  act,    (4)  the  couplets  in  third  act. 
Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Hymn  in  honour  of   Saints  Cyril  and  Methodius.     This 
hymn  is  an  old  Slavonic  melody  arranged  for  a  choir  : — 

Vazne  ale  ne  zdlouha. 


Pri-stup        Mo  -  ra  -  ven  -  ko,      pri-stup  bli    -    ze,  viz      jak 


i 


J 


,      .  ^ 


j  ^ 


a  -  postol  tvuj         u    -    mi 


S 


ra,          Cyrill,          jenz      ti        ka  -  zal 

/* 


i 


±=* 


~^L 


spa-su  kri    -    ze,          na      vdc      -      nost  se     ti  -  se          u     -     bi       -       ra. 


m 


r  i    '     I  -    i     i-— —     I     "    *  tr^>'~    &   \    &     \      >.  i 


Po  -  slu    -    sen      jsa  hlasu     pa  -  pe     -     zo      -      va,     k  Ri   -    mu 


IT  f  r  I J  ^f-H  -  I  *'  **  I  J  fi  J 


ra    -    do      -      sti  -  ve   pu  -  to    -    val,       jas  -  ny  du  -  kaz     da  -  la 


I 


je  -  ho      slo       -       va,       ry  -  zost      vi  -  ry  vzdy  ze      za  -  cho    -    val. 
Published  by  Jurgenson, 


744  PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

3.  Five  church  hymns.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

4.  "Ecossaise,"  for   the    sixth    scene    in    the    opera  Eugene 
Oniegin.     Tchaikovsky  composed  and  orchestrated  this  piece  in 
Maidanovo  and  sent  it  to  St.  Petersburg  all  in  one  day. 

5.  Op.  58.      Manfred.    A  Symphony  in  four  scenes  for  full 
orchestra,  from  a  dramatic  poem  by  Lord  Byron.     Dedicated  to 
Mily  Balakirev,     The  first  sketches  for  this  work  were  made  in 
April,  1885.    According  to  the  note  on  the  score,  it  was  finished 
December    i2th   (24th),    1885,  and   played   for   the   first   time 
March   nth  (23rd),   1886,  under  the  direction  of  Erdmanns- 
dorfer,  in  Moscow.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

1885-1886 

1.  Text  and  music  of  a  chorus  for  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of 
the  foundation  of  the  Imperial  School  of  Jurisprudence      Com- 
posed at  Maidanovo,  September,  1885.     Manuscript. 

2.  "  Jurists'  March,"  for  full  orchestra.  Composed  at  Kamenka, 
October,  1885.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

3.  The   "Domovoi"    ("House    Spirit"),    from    a   scene   in 
Ostrovsky's   play,    The    Voy  evade.      Composed    January,    1886. 
Manuscript. 

4.  Op.  59.  "  Dumka."  Russian  village  scene  for  the  pianoforte. 
Dedicated  to  the  Principal  of  the  Paris  Conservatoire,  A.  Mar- 
montel.    Composed  at  Maidanovo  end  of  February.     Published 
by  Jurgenson.     Besides  these  unimportant  works,  Tchaikovsky 
was   engaged   during   the   whole   season   upon   his  opera,   The 
Enchantress. 

1886-1887 

(FROM  SEPTEMBER  IST,  1886,  TO  JANUARY  IST,  1888) 

1.  Op.   60.     Twelve  songs,  with  pianoforte  accompaniment. 
Dedicated   to   Her   Majesty   the   Empress   Maria   Feodorovna. 
(i)  "Die  gestrige    Nacht,"   (2)   "  Verschwiegenheit,"   (3)    "O, 
wiisstest  Du,"   (4)    "Die   Nachtigall,"   (5)    "  Schlichte   Worte," 
(6)    "Die    Schlaflose    Nachte,"    (7)    "Lied    der    Zigeunerin," 
(8)  "Lebewohl,"  (9)  "Die  Nacht,"  (10)  "Lockung,"  (11)  "  Hel- 
denmut,"     (12)  "Sternennacht."     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  The  Enchantress,  opera   in   four   acts.      The   libretto   by 


APPENDIX    A  745 

I.  V.  Shpajinsky,  author  of  the  drama  of  the  same  name.  First 
performed  on  October  2oth  (November  ist),  1887,  at  the 
Maryinsky  Theatre,  St.  Petersburg,  and  conducted  by  the  com- 
poser. Jurgenson.  For  plot,  see  Appendix  B. 

3.  Op.  6 1.      Mozartiana.     Suite  No.  4,  in  four  movements, 
arranged  from  various  works  of  Mozart  and  orchestrated  for  full 
orchestra.     In  his  short  preface  to  the  score  Tchaikovsky  gives 
the  following  reasons  which  prompted  this  work  :  "  A  large  num- 
ber of  the  most  beautiful  of  Mozart's  smaller  works  are,  for  some 
reason,  little  known,  not  only  to  the  public,  but  to  musicians. 
The  composer's  object  in  arranging  this  Suite  was  to  bring  more 
frequently  before  the  public  works  which,  however  modest  in 
form,   are   gems   of    musical   literature."      First   performed    at 
Moscow,  November  i4th  (26th),  1887,  under  the  direction  of 
the  composer.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.     62.      "Pezzo    Capriccioso,"    for     violoncello,     with 
orchestral    accompaniment.      Dedicated    to    A.     Brandoukov. 
Played  by  him  for  the  first  time,  November  25th  (December  7th), 
1889.     Jurgenson. 

5.  Op.  63.     Six  songs.     Dedicated  to  the  Grand  Duke  Con- 
stantine    Constantinovich.      (i)    "  Nicht    sogleich,"    (2)    "Am 
offenen  Fenster,"   (3)   "Fahrt    hin,  ihr   Traume,"    (4)  Wieder- 
sehen,"  (5)  "  Kein  Lichtlein  glanzt,"  (6)  "Serenade."    Jurgenson. 

6.  A  chorus  for  men's   voices  a  capella.     Dedicated  to  the 
Students'  Choir  of  the  Moscow  University.     Published  by  Jur- 
genson. 

1888  (FROM  JANUARY  IST  TO  SEPTEMBER  IST) 

1.  Op.  64.     Symphony  No.  5  (E  minor),  in  four  movements, 
for  full  orchestra.     Dedicated  to  Herr  Theodor  Ave-Lallemant 
of  Hamburg.    First  performance  in  Petersburg,  November,  1888, 
conducted  by  the  composer.     Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Op.   65.     Six   songs   to    French   words,    with    pianoforte 
accompaniment.     Dedicated  to  Desiree  Artdt.     (i)  "Ou  vas- 
tu    souffle    d'aurore?"      (2)     "Deception,"     (3)    "Serenade," 
(4)  "Qu'importe  que  1'hiver,"  (5)  "Les  larmes,"  (6)  "Rondel." 
Composed  in  the  course  of  the  summer.     Jurgenson. 

3.  "Die    Nachtigall,"   chorus   a   capella.     Dedicated   to   the 


746  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

mixed  choir  of  the  Petersburg  Imperial  Opera  House.     Exact 
date  of  composition  unknown.     Jurgenson. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  completed  the  sketches  for  the 
overture-fantasia,  Hamlet. 

1888-1889 

1.  Orchestration  of  an  overture  by  Laroche.     Manuscript. 

2.  Op.  67.      Hamlet ',    overture-fantasia    for    full    orchestra. 
Dedicated  to  Edvard  Grieg.     Jurgenson. 

3.  Valse  Scherzo,  for  pianoforte.     Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.  66.     Dornroschen  (Sleeping  Beauty).     Ballet  in  three 
acts,  with  a  prologue.     Dedicated  to  I.  A.  Vsievolojsky.     The 
subject  is  taken  from  Perrault's  fairy  tale  of  the  same  name. 

The  first  performance  of  the  Ballet  took  place  January  3rd 
(i5th),  1890,  in  the  Maryinsky  Theatre,  Petersburg.  Jurgenson. 

1889-1890 

1.  Impromptu  for  pianoforte.     Dedicated  to  A.  Rubinstein. 
Jurgenson. 

2.  "Greeting     to     A.    G.    Rubinstein,"    chorus     a     capella. 
Jurgenson. 

3.  Pique  Dame.      Opera   in   three    acts   and    seven    scenes. 
Libretto  by  Modeste  Tchaikovsky.     The  subject  is  taken  from 
Poushkin's   novel  of  the   same   name.     The  first  performance 
took  place  in  the  Maryinsky  Theatre,  in  Petersburg,  December 
7th  (iQth),  1890.     Published  by  Jurgenson.     For  plot,  see  Ap- 
pendix B. 

Besides  the  above,  on  June  i3th  Tchaikovsky  began  to  com- 
pose a  Sextet  for  Strings,  of  which  the  sketches  were  finished  by 
June  3oth. 

1890-1891 

1.  Op.    670.     Music    to    Shakespeare's    Hamlet.     Overture, 
melodramas,  fanfares,  marches,  and  entr'actes  for  small  orchestra. 
Seventeen  numbers  in  all,  of  which,  however,  some  are  trans- 
ferred from  earlier  works.     Jurgenson. 

2.  Three  choruses  a  capella.     Composed  at  Frolovskoe,  and 


APPENDIX   A  747 

dedicated  to  I.  A.  Melnikov's  "  Gratuitous  Choral  Class."     Pub- 
lished in  Melnikov's  Collection  of  Russian  Choruses. 

Besides  the  above,  Tchaikovsky  finished  the  sketches  of  the 
Nut-cracker  Ballet  and  of  the  opera  of  lolanthe. 

1891-1892 

1.  Op.  78.     The  Voyevode,  symphonic  ballad,  for  full  orchestra 
(after  Poushkin).     First  performance  under  the  direction  of  the 
composer,  at  a  concert  given  by  Siloti,  November  6th  (i8th), 
1891.     The  following  day  Tchaikovsky  himself  destroyed  the 
score  of  this  work,  the  band  parts  remaining  in  Siloti's  keeping. 
After  the  composer's  death  the  score  was  restored  from  the  parts 
and  published  by  Belaiev. 

2.  Op.  69.     lolanthe.    Lyrical  opera  in  one  act.    The  subject 
founded  on  the  drama,  King  RenPs  Daughter,  by  the  Danish 
poet,  Henrik  Herz.   The  libretto  by  Modeste  Tchaikovsky.   First 
performed  in  Petersburg  in  the  Maryinsky  Theatre,  December 
6th  (i8th),  1892.     Published  by  Jurgenson.     See  Appendix  B. 

3.  Op.  70.     "  Souvenir  de  Florence."    Sextet  for  two  violins, 
two  violas,  and  two  violoncellos,  in  four  movements.     Dedicated 
to  the  Petersburg  Chamber  Music  Society.      First  performance 
by  this  society  November  25th  (December  7th),  1892.  Published 
by  Jurgenson. 

4.  Op.   71.     The  Nut-cracker.    Fairy  Ballet  in  two  acts  and 
three  scenes.     The  subject  is  borrowed  from  A.  Dumas'  version 
of  Hoffman's  fairy  tale.   The  following  programme  was  suggested 
to  Tchaikovsky  by  the  gifted  ballet-master,  Petipa : — 

No.  i.  Soft  music.     Sixty-four  bars. 

No.  2.  The  tree  is  lit  up.     Sparkling  music.     Eight  bars. 

No.  3.  Enter  the  children.  Animated  and  joyous  music. 
Twenty-four  bars. 

No.  4.  A  moment  of  surprise  and  admiration.  A  few  bars  of 
tremolo. 

No.  5.  A  march.     Sixty-four  bars. 

No.  6.  Entree  des  Incroyables.  Sixteen  bars,  rococo  (tempo 
menuet). 

No.  7.  Galop. 


748  PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

No.  8.  Enter  Drosselmeyer.  Awe-inspiring  but  comic  music. 
A  broad  movement,  sixteen  to  twenty-four  bars. 

The  music  gradually  changes  character — twenty-four  bars.  It 
becomes  less  serious,  lighter,  and  finally  gay  in  tone. 

Grave  music  for  eight  bars,  then  pause. 

Repeat  the  eight  bars — pause. 

Four  bars  which  express  astonishment. 

No.  9.  Eight  bars  in  mazurka  rhythm.  Eight  more.  Sixteen 
still  in  mazurka  rhythm. 

No.  10.  A  piquant,  spicy  valse,  strongly  rhythmic.  Forty- 
eight  bars. 

1892-1893 

1.  Military  march.    Dedicated  to  the  98th  Infantry  Regiment. 
Tchaikovsky's  cousin,  Andrew  Petrovich  Tchaikovsky,  colonel 

of  this  regiment,  asked  him  in  February,  1893,  to  compose  this 
march. 

2.  Op.  72.  Eighteen  pieces  for  pianoforte,    (i)  "Impromptu," 
(2)  "  Berceuse,"  (3)  "  Tendres  reproches,"  (4)  "  Danse  caracter- 
istique,"   (5)  "Meditation,"   (6)  "  Mazurque   pour   danser,"  (7) 
"  Polacca  de  Concert,"  (8)  "  Dialogue,"  (9)  "  Un  poco  di  Schu- 
mann,"  (ro)    "Scherzo-Fantaisie,"    (n)    "  Valse-Bluette,"   (12) 
"  L'Espiegle,"  (13)  "Echo  rustique,"  (14)   "Chant  elegiaque," 
(15)  "Un  poco  di  Chopin,"  (16)  "Valse  a  cinq  temps,"  (17) 
"Passe  lointain,"  (18)  "Scene  dansante.     Invitation  au  trepak  " 
Published  by  Jurgenson. 

3«  Op-  73-  Six  songs,  with  pianoforte  accompaniment.  Words 
by  D.  Rathaus.  Dedicated  to  N.  Figner.  (i)  "An  den  schlum- 
mernden  Strom,"  (2)  "Nachts,"  (3)  "O,  du  mondhelle  Nacht," 
(4)  "  Sonne  ging  zur  Ruhe,"  (5)  "  In  Triiber  Stunde,"  (6)  "  Weil 
ich  wie  einstmals."  Published  by  Jurgenson. 

4.  "  Night."  Quartet  for  soprano,  alto,  tenor,  and  bass,  with 
pianoforte  accompaniment.  Words  by  P.  Tchaikovsky.  The 
music  is  founded  on  Mozart's  Pianoforte  Fantasia  No.  4. 

In  1892  Vladimir  Napravnik,  who  was  staying  with  Tchai- 
kovsky at  Maidanovo,  played  to  him  very  frequently.  This 
pleased  his  host,  and  on  one  occasion  Napravnik's  clever  render- 
ing of  Mozart's  fantasia  roused  him  to  so  much  enthusiasm  that 


APPENDIX    A  749 

he  resolved  to  make  a  quartet  from  the  middle  movement.     He 
carried  out  this  intention  in  May,  1893.     Jurgenson. 

5.  Op.    74.    Symphony    No.    6,    in  four  movements,  for  full 
orchestra.     Dedicated  to  V.  Davidov.     Performed  for  the  first 
time  in  Petersburg,  October,  i6th  (28th),  1893.     Conducted  by 
the  composer.     Jurgenson. 

6.  Op.   75.     Concerto  No.   3,  for   pianoforte  and  orchestra. 
Dedicated  to  Louis  Diemer.     This  Concerto  was  taken  from 
a  Symphony  which  Tchaikovsky  began  in  May,  1892,  and  all  but 
completed.     He  afterwards  destroyed  the  Symphony.    The  Con- 
certo was  first  played  in  Petersburg  by  Taneiev.     Published  by 
Jurgenson. 

Besides  the  above,  the  following  works  were  found  at  Klin 
after  Tchaikovsky's  death  : — 

1.  Momenta  lirico.     A  piece,  nearly  completed,  for  the  piano- 
forte.     Taneiev   only   pieced   together   the    separate    sketches. 
Published  by  Jurgenson. 

2.  Duet,  "  Romeo  and  Juliet."     In  this  work  Taneiev  had 
more  to  amplify,  as  he  had  to  supply  the  entire  accompaniments 
of   the    solo    parts.     He    borrowed  these  from  Tchaikovsky's 
orchestral  fantasia  on  the  same  subject. 

3.  Andante  and  Finale,  for  pianoforte  and  orchestra.     Both 
movements  were  arranged  by  Tchaikovsky  himself  from  sketches 
for  the  Symphony  planned  in   1892.     The  orchestration  is   by 
Taneiev,    who    was    the   first   to  play   the   work  in   public  at 
Belaiev's  first  Russian  Symphony  Concert,  February  8th  (2oth), 
1896.     Thus  Taneiev  accomplished  his  role  as  the  original  inter- 
preter of  all  Tchaikovsky's  pianoforte  works  (excepting  the  Con- 
certo in  B  flat  minor,  which  was  played  for  the  first  time  by 
Kross).     Published  by  Belaiev. 


APPENDIX  B 


THE  PLOTS  OF  TCHAIKOVSKY'S  CHIEF  OPERAS 

i.  The  Oprichnik.  The  Oprichniks  were  a  band  of  dissolute 
young  noblemen,  the  chosen  body-guard  of  Ivan  the  Terrible, 
who  swore  by  fearful  and  unnatural  oaths  to  carry  out  every 
command  of  the  despot  they  served.  Sometimes  they  masque- 
raded as  monks  and  celebrated  "  black  mass."  In  reality  they 
were  robbers  and  murderers,  hated  and  feared  by  the  people 
whom  they  oppressed.  Andrew  Morozov,  the  descendant  of  a 
noble,  but  impoverished,  house,  and  the  only  son  of  the  widowed 
Lady  Morozova,  is  in  love  with  the  beautiful  Natalia,  daughter 
of  Prince  Jemchoujny.  His  poverty  disqualifies  him  as  a  suitor. 
Natalia's  father  promises  her  hand  to  the  elderly  boyard  Mitkov. 
While  desperately  in  need  of  money,  Andrew  falls  in  with 
Basmanov,  a  young  Oprichnik,  who  persuades  him  to  join  their 
community,  telling  him  that  an  Oprichnik  can  always  fill  his  own 
pockets.  Andrew  consents,  believing  it  to  be  his  only  chance  of 
revenging  himself  upon  Prince  Jemchoujny.  The  Lady  Moro- 
zova is  a  high-minded,  religious  woman.  Andrew,  anxious  to 
relieve  her  poverty,  takes  her  money  which  he  has  borrowed  from 
Basmanov.  His  mother  refuses  to  touch  what  she  knows  to  be 
the  fruit  of  robbery  and  murder,  and  implores  her  son  not  to 
associate  with  the  hated  Oprichniks.  Andrew,  who  is  devoted  to 
his  mother,  promises  to  respect  her  wishes.  Afterwards  the 
desire  for  power  and  vengeance  prevails,  and  he  consents  to  take 
the  oath  of  the  Oprichnik  band.  The  first  sacrifice  demanded  of 
him  is  the  complete  renunciation  of  his  mother  and  Natalia. 
Lady  Morozova  is  now  heart-broken,  deserted  by  her  son  and 
hated  by  the  populace,  who  insult  her  in  the  public  square  as  the 
"  mother  of  an  Oprichnik."  She  is  about  to  take  refuge  in  the 

750 


APPENDIX    B  751 

church,  when  Natalia  flies  to  her  for  protection.  She  has  escaped 
from  her  father  and  her  middle-aged  suitor  Mitkov.  Prince 
Jemchoujny  appears  on  the  scene  and  orders  his  rebellious 
daughter  to  return  to  her  home.  His  chidings  are  interrupted  by 
the  arrival  of  the  Oprichniks,  awakening  terror  and  hatred  among 
the  people.  Andrew  catches  sight  of  his  mother,  whom  he  has 
not  seen  for  many  days,  and  rushes  to  embrace  her,  when  the 
sinister  theme  of  the  Oprichniks  is  heard  in  the  orchestra,  remind- 
ing him  of  his  vows.  Lady  Morozova  turns  from  her  son,  disowns 
him,  and  solemnly  curses  him  as  an  Oprichnik.  In  the  last  act 
Andrew,  unable  to  abandon  Natalia  to  her  fate,  resolves  to  marry 
her  in  spite  of  his  vows.  But  Prince  Viazminsky,  the  leader  of 
the  Oprichniks,  cherishes  an  old  grudge  against  the  family  of 
Morozov,  and  works  for  Andrew's  downfall.  He  breaks  in  upon 
the  wedding-feast  with  a  message  from  the  Tsar.  Ivan  the 
Terrible  has  heard  of  the  bride's  beauty,  and  desires  her  attend- 
ance at  the  royal  apartments.  Andrew,  with  gloomy  forebodings 
in  his  heart,  prepares  to  escort  his  bride,  when  Viazminsky,  with 
a  meaning  smile,  explains  that  the  invitation  is  for  the  bride  alone, 
Andrew  refuses  to  let  his  wife  go  into  the  royal  presence  without 
his  protection.  Viazminsky  proclaims  him  a  traitor  to  his  vows. 
Natalia  is  carried  off  by  force,  and  the  Oprichniks  lead  Andrew 
into  the  market-place  to  suffer  the  death  penalty  at  their  hands. 
Meanwhile  Lady  Morozova,  who  has  relented,  comes  to  bless  her 
son  on  his  wedding-day.  She  enters  the  deserted  hall,  where 
Viazminsky,  alone,  is  gloating  over  the  success  of  his  intrigue. 
She  inquires  unsuspectingly  for  Andrew,  and  he  leads  her  to  the 
window.  Horror-stricken,  she  witnesses  the  execution  of  her  son, 
and  falls  dead  at  the  feet  of  her  triumphant  enemy. 

2.  Vakoula  the  Smith,  afterwards  known  as  Cherevichek  ("  The 
Little  Shoes"),  and  finally  republished  as  Les  Caprices  cTOxane. 
Christmas  Eve.  A  moonlight  night,  in  the  village  of  Dikanka. 
Solokha,  the  witch,  comes  out  of  one  of  the  huts,  and  is  joined 
by  the  devil.  They  decide  to  fly  off  together.  The  witch  goes 
to  fetch  a  broomstick,  and  the  devil  in  his  monologue  sings  of 
his  hatred  of  Vakoula  the  Smith,  because  the  latter  has  drawn  a 
caricature  of  him  upon  the  church  wall.  He  invokes  a  snowstorm. 
Solokha  reappears,  and  they  elope  together,  stealing  the  moon  and 


752  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

stars  as  they  go,  and  leaving  the  village  plunged  in  darkness. 
Vakoula  is  making  love  to  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Choub  the 
Cossack.  To-night  Choub  is  going  to  supper  with  the  sacristan, 
and  Vakoula  will  take  the  opportunity  of  visiting  his  sweetheart, 
who,  however,  remains  deaf  to  all  his  entreaties.  Meanwhile 
Choub  loses  his  way  in  the  darkness,  and  after  wandering  round  in 
a  circle  finds  himself  at  his  own  hut.  Vakoula  mistakes  him  for  a 
rival  lover,  and  drives  him  away  from  his  own  threshold. 

The  second  act  shows  the  interior  of  the  witch's  hut,  where 
Solokha  is  making  herself  smart  after  her  ride  through  space  on  a 
broomstick.  The  devil  comes  out  of  the  stove  and  makes  love 
to  her.  They  dance  the  Gopak,  while  little  imps  emerge  from 
every  nook  and  cranny  in  the  form  of  crickets  and  beetles.  A 
knock  is  heard,  and  the  devil  hides  himself  in  an  empty  sack. 
Enter  the  Headman  of  the  village.  Another  knock,  and  the 
Headman,  who  does  not  want  to  be  caught  with  Solokha,  dis- 
poses of  himself  in  another  sack.  This  time  the  sacristan  comes 
in,  and  the  same  ruse  is  enacted ;  and,  finally,  Choub  appears  on 
the  scene  and,  at  a  fourth  knock,  he  too  takes  refuge  in  a  sack. 
The  last  comer  is  the  witch's  son  Vakoula.  He  is  so  wrapped 
up  in  his  love  troubles,  that  he  picks  up  the  sacks  in  an  absent- 
minded  way  and  carries  them  off  to  the  smithy.  In  the  scene 
that  follows  the  villagers  are  singing  Christmas  carols  in  the 
village  street.  The  moon  has  returned  to  its  place.  Oxana, 
who  is  among  the  singers,  catches  sight  of  Vakoula  and 
cannot  refrain  from  teazing  him  a  little  more.  She  tells 
him  she  will  marry  him  if  he  will  bring  her  the  Tsaritsa's 
own  shoes.  Vakoula  goes  off  in  a  temper,  taking  the  sack  con- 
taining the  devil  and  leaving  the  others  in  the  road.  The 
children  peep  inside  and  discover  the  Headman,  the  sacristan, 
and  Choub. 

In  the  third  act  Vakoula  goes  to  drown  himself  in  the  forest 
pool.  He  puts  the  sack  containing  the  devil  at  the  edge  of  the 
water.  The  evil  spirit  offers  to  give  Oxana  to  the  smith  in  ex- 
change for  his  soul.  Vakoula  consents,  and  will  sign  the  contract 
in  his  blood.  The  devil  lets  him  go  for  a  moment,  and  Vakoula 
overpowers  him  in  turn.  He  makes  the  devil  promise  to  take 
him  to  the  Tsaritsa,  and  they  take  flight  for  St.  Petersburg.  A 


APPENDIX    B  753 

room  in  the  Palace :  the  herald  announces  a  victory  of  the 
Russian  army.  The  Zaparogue  Cossacks  are  summoned  before 
the  Tsar.  The  Cossacks  dance  a  Gopak.  Vakoula  takes  the 
opportunity  of  begging  for  the  Tsaritsa's  shoes,  which  are  granted 
to  him.  The  devil  takes  him  back  to  his  native  village.  Christ- 
mas morning :  Vakoula  finds  Oxana  bewailing  his  supposed  loss. 
He  consoles  her  with  the  shoes,  and  she  consents  to  become  his 
wife. 

3.  Eugene  Oniegin.  Madame  Lerin  and  the  old  nurse  are 
making  preserves  in  the  garden  of  a  Russian  country  house. 
From  indoors  a  duet  is  heard.  Tatiana  and  her  sister  Olga  are 
singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  harp.  The  peasants  appear 
on  the  scene,  carrying  the  last  sheaf  from  the  harvest  fields. 
National  songs  and  dances.  The  announcement  of  guests  creates 
a  considerable  commotion  in  the  quiet  country  household.  They 
prove  to  be  Lensky,  a  young  neighbour,  fresh  from  a  German 
university,  and  Oniegin,  a  dandy  from  the  capital,  on  a  visit  to 
his  friend.  Madame  Lerin  and  the  nurse  retire  to  prepare 
supper.  The  young  people  saunter  in  the  garden,  Lensky  with 
Olga,  Tatiana  with  Oniegin.  Tatiana  is  shy  at  first,  then  falls  in 
love  with  the  stranger.  In  the  second  scene  Tatiana  is  sitting  in 
her  room  by  moonlight.  The  old  nurse  comes  to  scold  her  for  not 
being  asleep.  There  follows  a  long,  confidential  talk  between  them 
(recitative  with  soft  accompaniment  based  on  Tatiana's  theme). 
When  her  nurse  has  gone,  Tatiana  sits  dreaming  of  her  love  for 
Oniegin.  How  will  he  guess  her  secret,  unless  she  reveals  it 
herself?  In  her  innocence  of  the  world  she  resolves  to  write 
him  a  love  letter.  She  begs  the  nurse  to  convey  it  to  Oniegin. 
The  old  woman  hesitates,  but  cannot  refuse  anything  to  the 
child  of  her  heart.  Reluctantly  she  departs  on  her  errand.  The 
third  scene  takes  us  back  to  the  garden.  Oniegin  meets  Tatiana. 
He  cannot  appreciate  the  directness  and  sweetness  of  the  girl's 
nature.  Jaded  and  world-worn,  Tatiana  seems  to  him  insipid 
and  provincial,  while  at  the  same  time  he  finds  her  forward.  He 
thanks  her  coldly  for  her  letter,  assures  her  he  is  not  a  marrying 
man,  and  gives  her  some  cynical  advice  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
acting  with  more  maidenly  reserve  in  future.  Then  he  leaves 
her,  crushed  with  shame  and  disappointment. 

3  c 


754  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

The  second  act  opens  upon  a  ballroom  scene.  It  is  Tatiana's 
birthday.  Oniegin,  whom  Lensky  has  dragged  to  the  dance 
against  his  will,  amuses  himself  by  flirting  with  Olga.  The  com- 
plimentary couplets  sung  to  Tatiana  by  the  elderly  Frenchman 
Tnquet  are  a  favourite  number  in  this  scene.  As  the  ball  pro- 
gresses Lensky,  mad  with  jealousy,  loses  his  self-control  and  insults 
Oniegin.  The  latter  now  feels  some  qualms  of  conscience,  but 
the  hot-headed  youth  forces  a  challenge  upon  him,  and  he  con- 
sents to  fight.  The  party  breaks  up  in  consternation.  The 
second  scene  is  devoted  to  the  duel  in  which  Oniegin  kills 
Vladimir  Lensky. 

Some  years  are  supposed  to  elapse  between  the  second  and 
third  acts.  A  reception  at  a  fashionable  house  in  Petersburg. 
Oniegin  is  seen  standing  apart  from  the  guests,  in  gloomy  reflec- 
tion. He  has  returned  home  after  a  self-imposed  exile.  Remorse 
for  Lensky's  death  haunts  him,  and  he  can  find  no  satisfaction  in 
love  or  folly.  All  the  guests  are  impatient  for  the  arrival  of  the 
acknowledged  belle  of  society,  Princess  Gremin.  When  she 
comes  on  the  scene,  Oniegin  recognises  Tatiana,  transformed 
into  a  stately,  gracious  woman  of  the  world.  Her  husband  is 
elderly,  but  distinguished,  handsome,  and  devoted  to  his  beautiful 
young  wife.  Oniegin's  chilly  egotism  is  thawed,  and  he  falls 
passionately  in  love  with  the  woman  he  once  despised.  The  last 
scene  takes  place  in  the  boudoir  of  the  Princess  Gremin.  She  is 
reading  a  letter  from  Oniegin,  in  which  he  declares  his  love. 
This  communication  throws  her  into  a  state  of  agitation,  and, 
before  she  can  recover  herself,  Oniegin  breaks  in  upon  her  in 
person.  In  a  long,  impassioned  duet  he  implores  her  to  have 
pity  and  to  fly  with  him.  With  some  of  the  rake's  vanity  still 
left  in  his  nature,  he  cannot  at  first  realise  that  she  can  resist 
him.  Tatiana  respects  and  honours  her  husband.  At  first  she 
tries  to  punish  Oniegin  for  the  past.  Then  she  struggles  between 
duty  and  reawakened  love.  Finally,  with  a  supreme  effort,  she 
breaks  away  from  him  at  the  very  moment  when  she  has  confessed 
her  true  feelings.  When  the  curtain  falls,  Oniegin,  baffled  and 
despairing,  is  left  alone  on  the  stage. 

4.  The  Maid  of  Orleans.  A  village  festival  at  Domremy.  Thibaut, 
Joan's  father,  and  Raimond,  her  lover,  appear  upon  the  scene. 


APPENDIX    B  755 

Thibaut  says  it  is  no  time  for  dancing  and  singing ;  a  maid  needs 
a  man  to  protect  her,  and  therefore  he  wishes  Joan  to  marry 
Raimond.  She  is  silent,  but  finally  confesses  that  she  has 
chosen  another  destiny.  Her  father  is  angry  and  reproachful. 
A  fire  is  seen  on  the  horizon,  and  the  tocsin  is  heard.  Old 
Bertrand  comes  in.  He  speaks  of  the  desperate  state  of  the 
country  and  the  approach  of  the  English  army.  Suddenly  Joan 
rises  up  and  speaks  with  prophetic  inspiration.  She  feels  the 
hour  for  action  has  come,  and  bids  farewell  to  her  birthplace. 
The  angels  appear  to  Joan  and  incite  her  to  heroic  deeds. 

Third  act.  A  field  near  Rheims.  The  meeting  of  Joan  and 
Lionel.  They  fight.  Joan  overcomes  him,  and  stands  above 
him  with  her  drawn  sword.  At  this  moment  she  catches  sight 
of  his  face,  and  falls  in  love  with  him.  He  returns  her  passion. 
Dunois  comes  upon  the  scene,  and  Lionel  tells  him  that  he 
wishes  to  join  the  French  army.  Dunois  is  delighted  that  such 
a  great  leader  should  come  over  to  France.  He  leads  him  away 
in  the  King's  name.  Joan  collapses,  and  discovers  she  is 
wounded.  Second  scene.  The  coronation  of  Charles  VII.  The 
King  announces  to  the  people  that  Joan  has  saved  the  country. 
Her  father  declares  that  she  has  been  supported  by  the  powers 
of  hell,  rather  than  the  angels  of  heaven.  No  one  believes  him. 
Lionel  and  Dunois  are  ready  to  do  combat  on  her  behalf.  The 
Archbishop  of  Rheims  asks  her  if  she  is  "pure."  She  believes 
herself  a  sinner  in  intention,  and  will  not  reply.  All  leave  her. 
Lionel  comes  to  console  her  in  her  abandonment.  She  turns 
from  him  in  indignation,  as  from  "  her  worst  enemy." 

Fourth  act.  The  forest.  Lionel  pursues  Joan.  At  first  she 
flees  from  him,  then  suddenly  yields  to  their  mutual  passion. 
They  hear  the  English  trumpets  in  the  distance.  Joan  refuses  to 
escape.  She  is  taken  prisoner,  and  Lionel  is  slain.  Second 
scene.  Rouen.  Joan  is  led  to  the  stake.  For  a  moment  she 
loses  courage,  but  is  sustained  by  a  chorus  of  angels.  She  is 
bound  to  the  stake.  A  priest  offers  her  a  wooden  crucifix.  The 
faggots  are  lighted. 

5.  Mazeppa. — First  act.  First  scene.  Kochoubey's  garden, 
where  his  daughter  Maria,  after  parting  with  her  girl  friends, 
sings  of  her  love  for  her  father's  guest,  Mazeppa.  Enter  Andrew, 


756  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

a  young  Cossack,  who  has  loved  Maria  from  childhood.  He 
knows  her  secret  passion  for  Mazeppa.  Kochoubey  and  his 
wife  come  into  the  garden  with  their  guests,  including  Mazeppa 
and  Iskra.  The  former  asks  Kochoubey's  consent  to  his 
marriage  with  Maria.  Songs  and  dances  take  place  during  the 
discussion.  Mazeppa  insinuates  that  Maria  cannot  marry  any- 
one but  himself,  and  her  father  indignantly  orders  him  to  leave 
the  house.  He  does  so,  but  first  wrings  from  Maria  the  con- 
fession that  she  cares  for  him  more  than  for  her  parents.  Second 
scene.  Kochoubey's  house.  Maria  has  fled  with  Mazeppa.  His 
wife  bemoans  the  loss  of  her  child,  and  instigates  her  husband  to 
vengeance.  He  promises  to  denounce  Mazeppa  to  the  Tsar. 
Andrew  undertakes  to  lay  his  complaint  at  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

Second  act.  A  dungeon  in  the  castle  of  Bielotserkovsky. 
Kochoubey  is  imprisoned  there,  because  Mazeppa  has  treacher- 
ously impeached  him  at  Court  before  he  had  time  to  lay  his  own 
grievances  before  the  Tsar.  This  scene  contains  a  dramatic 
moment,  in  which  Kochoubey  is  confronted  with  Mazeppa's  tool 
— Orlik.  In  the  second  scene  Mazeppa  gives  orders  to  Orlik 
for  the  execution  of  Kochoubey  on  the  following  day.  Then 
Maria  appears.  Love  scene  with  Mazeppa.  She  does  not  know 
the  full  extent  of  his  cruelty  and  treachery,  and  still  cares  for 
him,  in  spite  of  her  vague  forebodings.  Her  mother  appears  on 
the  scene,  and  reveals  the  terrible  destiny  which  awaits  Maria's 
father.  Mother  and  daughter  hurry  away  to  try  if  they  can  save 
Kochoubey.  Third  scene.  The  place  of  execution.  The 
populace  are  waiting  to  see  the  death  of  Kochoubey  and  Iskra. 
Dance  of  a  drunken  Cossack.  Procession  to  the  scaffold. 
Maria  and  her  mother  arrive  at  the  moment  when  the  axe  falls, 
and  the  former  loses  consciousness  when  she  realises  that  it  is 
too  late  to  effect  a  rescue. 

Third  act.  Symphonic  sketch,  "  The  Battle  of  Poltava."  The 
deserted  garden  and  homestead  of  the  Kochoubeys.  Andrew 
appears.  All  day  in  the  battle  he  has  striven  to  meet  Mazeppa, 
and  slay  him  in  single  combat,  but  in  vain.  Now  he  has  come 
to  take  a  last  leave  of  the  spot  where  he  and  Maria  spent  their 
happy  childhood.  Enter  Mazeppa  and  Orlik.  Andrew  reproaches 
the  former  for  all  the  misery  he  has  brought  upon  Maria,  and 


APPENDIX   B  757 

challenges  him  to  fight.  Andrew  is  mortally  wounded.  Then 
Maria  wanders  in.  Her  misfortunes  have  upset  her  reason. 
Mazeppa  tells  her  to  follow  him,  but  she  refuses,  and  he 
abandons  her  to  her  fate.  She  sees  Andrew,  but  does  not  fully 
recognise  him.  She  takes  the  dying  Cossack  in  her  arms,  and 
sings  him  to  his  last  sleep  with  a  childish  lullaby.  The  peas- 
antry, attracted  by  the  noise  of  the  fight  between  Mazeppa  and 
Andrew,  now  arrive  upon  the  scene.  Maria  starts  up  suddenly, 
and,  with  a  mad  laugh,  throws  herself  into  the  stream. 

6.  The  Enchantress  ("  Charodeika ").  First  act.  The  banks 
of  the  Oka,  near  Nijny-Novgorod.  National  customs.  Kouma 
Nastasia  appears  outside  her  inn  and  welcomes  her  customers. 
A  boat  comes  down  the  river.  The  Prince — :son  of  the  Governor 
of  Nijny — is  returning  from  the  chase.  He  drifts  by,  and 
Kouma  remains  pensive  at  the  river's  edge.  She  is  in  love  with 
the  Prince.  The  Governor  and  his  Counsellor,  Prince  Mamirov, 
suddenly  appear  on  the  scene.  The  latter,  who  is  the  re- 
presentative of  respectability  and  decency,  detests  Kouma.  He 
has  compelled  the  Governor  to  come  and  see  for  himself  what  a 
gang  of  disorderly  characters  meet  in  Nastasia's  inn.  The 
people  are  very  agitated  at  this  arrival,  and  wish  to  remain  near 
Kouma  in  order  to  protect  her  from  violence.  But  she  begs 
them  to  retire.  Then  she  puts  on  her  best  attire  and  goes  out 
to  meet  the  unexpected  guests.  The  Prince  immediately  falls  a 
victim  to  her  charms.  He  accepts  a  cup  of  wine  from  the 
beautiful  innkeeper,  and  gives  her  his  ring  in  return.  Kouma, 
not  contented  with  her  victory  over  the  two  men,  is  seized 
with  a  desire  to  humiliate  Mamirov,  and  asks  him  to  join 
in  the  mummers'  dance.  He  refuses,  but  the  Governor  — 
now  completely  under  the  spell  of  Kouma  Nastasia's  beauty — 
orders  him  to  do  so.  Mamirov  dances  amid  the  laughter  of  the 
spectators. 

Second  act.  The  garden  of  the  Governor's  house.  His  wife 
is  discovered,  deep  in  thought.  Her  maid  Nenila  is  near  at 
hand.  The  Governor's  wife  is  jealous,  because  her  husband 
now  spends  all  his  days  with  Kouma.  She  vows  to  revenge 
herself.  Mamirov  fans  her  smouldering  wrath.  Enter  the 
Prince,  who  perceives  that  his  mother  is  in  trouble  and  tries 


758  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

to  console  her.  They  enter  the  house  together.  The  Wanderer 
comes  upon  the  scene,  and  Mamirov  orders  him  to  report  upon 
everything  that  takes  place  in  Kouma's  inn.  Then  the  Governor 
himself  arrives.  He  is  full  of  his  passion  for  Kouma  Nastasia. 
There  follows  a  stormy  scene  between  husband  and  wife.  The 
.Governor  returns  to  Kouma.  The  Wanderer  reveals  to  the 
Prince  the  real  reason  of  the  quarrel  between  the  Governor  and 
his  wife,  the  son  swears  to  avenge  his  mother's  wrongs  and  to 
kill  Kouma,  whom  he  has  never  seen. 

Third  act.  Kouma's  house.  Evening.  The  Governor  tells 
Kouma  he  loves  her,  but  she  does  not  respond.  He  threatens 
her,  but  she  declares  she  would  sooner  lose  her  life  than  yield  to 
him.  He  goes  away  in  anger.  Kouma's  uncle  warns  her  that 
the  young  Prince  has  sworn  to  avenge  his  mother,  and  is  coming 
to  kill  her  that  very  night.  She  sends  all  her  friends  away  and 
remains  alone.  She  would  rather  die  by  the  Prince's  hand  than 
accept  the  Governor  as  her  lover.  She  puts  out  the  light,  lies 
down  on  her  bed,  and  awaits  the  end.  The  Prince  comes,  creeps 
to  the  bedside,  draws  the  curtain  aside,  and  drops  his  dagger, 
spell-bound  by  the  beauty  of  the  woman.  A  lengthy  duet.  The 
Prince  becomes  wholly  entranced  by  Kouma's  charms. 

Fourth  act.  A  dark  forest  on  the  banks  of  the  Oka.  The 
cave  of  Koudma  the  Wizard.  The  Prince  comes  on  the  scene, 
attired  as  for  hunting.  He  inquires  of  Koudma  whether  all  is 
now  ready  for  his  flight  with  Kouma.  He  departs  with  his 
huntsmen.  Enter  the  Wanderer,  bringing  the  Governor's  wife, 
disguised  as  a  beggar-woman.  She  has  come  to  ask  the  wizard 
for  some  fatal  spell  to  destroy  Kouma.  The  Wanderer  flees  in 
terror,  and  the  Governor's  wife  enters  the  cave  alone.  A  boat 
arrives  containing  Kouma  and  her  friends.  They  land,  leaving 
her  alone  to  wait  for  the  Prince.  The  revengeful  wife  approaches 
Kouma  and  offers  her  a  refreshing  drink,  into  which  she  drops  the 
fatal  poison.  Kouma  drinks.  The  Prince  returns  and  rushes  to 
embrace  her.  All  is  ready  for  their  flight,  but  the  poison  has 
already  done  its  work — Kouma  dies  in  her  lovers  arms.  The 
Governor's  wife  confesses  her  guilt,  and  the  Prince  in  despair 
repulses  her.  Enter  the  Governor  in  search  of  the  fugitives.  He 
cannot  see  Kouma,  and  believes  she  is  being  hidden  from  him 


APPENDIX    B  759 

Maddened  with  jealousy,  he  hurls  himself  upon  his  son  and  kills 
him.  His  wife  curses  him  as  a  murderer.  The  body  of  the 
Prince  is  borne  away  and  the  Governor  remains  alone.  A  terrible 
storms  breaks  over  his  head.  Overcome  with  remorse  and  terror, 
he  falls  down  in  a  mortal  swoon. 

7.  Pique  Dame.  First  act.  First  scene.  The  Summer  Garden 
in  Petersburg.  Spring.  Chorus  of  nurses  and  governesses.  Some 
of  the  "  golden  youth  "  of  the  capital  appear  on  the  scene.  They 
speak  of  Hermann's  extraordinary  passion  for  gambling.  Enter 
Hermann  and  Tomsky.  The  former  talks  of  his  love  for  a  dis- 
tinguished girl  with  whose  name  he  is  not  acquainted,  although 
he  often  meets  her  in  the  street,  accompanied  by  an  old  lady  of 
forbidding  appearance.  Enter  Prince  Yeletsky,  who  announces 
his  engagement  to  the  very  girl  in  whom  Hermann  is  interested. 
Hermann  is  depressed  because  his  poverty  is  a  hindrance  to  his 
suit.  While  the  sight  of  Liza  always  awakens  his  best  feelings, 
that  of  her  grandmother  fills  him  with  a  vague  horror.  Tomsky 
tells  him  a  tale  to  the  effect  that  the  old  Countess  possesses  the 
secret  combination  of  three  cards,  which  accounts  for  her  extra- 
ordinary luck  at  the  gaming  tables.  Hermann,  in  his  morbid 
mental  condition,  believes  himself  destined  to  acquire  this  secret 
at  any  price.  A  terrible  thunderstorm  still  further  upsets  his 
mind,  and  he  begins  to  realise  with  horror  that  he  is  capable  of 
committing  a  murder.  He  resolves  to  put  an  end  to  himself,  but 
not  until  he  has  declared  his  love  to  Liza. 

Second  scene.  Liza  and  her  young  friends  are  amusing  them- 
selves with  singing  and  dancing.  The  governess  appears  on  the 
scene,  and  the  merry  party  is  broken  up.  Liza  is  left  alone.  She 
is  not  in  love  with  her  fiance,  for  her  imagination  is  entirely 
occupied  with  the  mysterious  young  man  whom  she  so  often 
meets  out  of  doors.  Suddenly  Hermann  appears  before  her. 
He  threatens  to  kill  himself  on  the  spot  if  she  will  not  listen  to 
him.  Just  as  she  has  gathered  courage  to  drive  him  away,  the 
old  Countess  comes  in,  alarmed  by  the  commotion  in  her  grand- 
daughter's apartment.  Liza  conceals  Hermann.  The  sight  of 
the  old  Countess  brings  back  his  idee  fixe  of  the  three  cards. 
When  Liza  has  succeeded  in  calming  her  grandmother,  and  has 
induced  her  to  return  to  her  room,  she  goes  back  to  Hermann 


760  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

with  the  intention  of  dismissing  him ;  but  in  the  end  his  passion 
prevails  over  her  scruples. 

Second  act.  Third  scene.  A  fancy-dress  ball.  Prince  Ye- 
letsky  pays  his  addresses  to  Liza,  who  does  not  respond.  Her- 
mann is  among  the  guests.  At  the  sight  of  the  Countess  the 
insane  longing  to  possess  the  secret  of  her  luck  comes  over  him 
again.  In  a  t£te-ci-t£te  with  Liza  he  implores  her  to  let  him  visit 
her  that  night.  She  tells  him  how  he  may  gain  access  to  her 
room  unperceived. 

Fourth  scene.  The  Countess's  bedroom.  Hermann  appears 
through  the  secret  door.  He  hears  steps,  and  hides  himself 
again.  The  old  Countess  returns  from  the  ball.  She  goes  into 
her  boudoir,  and  presently  reappears  in  her  night  attire.  She  is 
tired  and  cross,  and  complains  that  in  her  youth  parties  were 
more  amusing  than  they  are  now.  She  dismisses  her  maid,  and 
falls  asleep  humming  to  herself  an  air  from  an  old-fashioned 
opera.  Hermann  awakes  her.  She  is  so  terrified  that  she  dies 
suddenly,  without  having  revealed  her  secret.  Liza  appears,  and 
can  no  longer  conceal  from  herself  that  Hermann  only  made 
love  to  her  in  order  to  carry  out  his  mad  scheme. 

Third  act.  Fifth  scene.  Evening.  The  barracks.  Hermann 
alone  in  his  quarters  is  haunted  by  remorse.  In  his  terror  he  rushes 
from  the  room,  but  is  met  on  the  threshold  by  the  apparition  of 
the  Countess  showing  him  the  three  cards.  Sixth  scene.  Liza  is 
waiting  for  Hermann  near  the  Winter  Canal.  Midnight  strikes, 
and  Liza  in  despair  is  about  to  do  away  with  herself  when  he 
appears  on  the  scene.  At  the  sight  of  her  his  madness  subsides, 
and  he  thinks  only  of  his  love  for  her.  But  he  soon  begins  to 
rave  about  the  three  cards,  and  no  longer  recognises  Liza.  In 
despair  she  throws  herself  into  the  Neva.  Seventh  scene.  Her- 
mann at  the  gambling  tables.  He  wins  on  the  first  two  cards 
shown  him  by  the  ghost  of  the  Countess.  When  it  comes  to  the 
third  card  no  one  will  venture  to  stake  against  him  except  Prince 
Yeletsky.  Instead  of  the  expected  ace,  Hermann  turns  up  the 
queen  of  spades,  and  loses  all  his  winnings.  The  apparition  of 
the  Countess  appears  to  him  once  more,  and  he  stabs  himself  in 
a  fit  of  madness. 

8.  lolanthe.     The  blind  daughter  of  King  Rene  of  Provence 


APPENDIX    B  761 

lives  among  the  Vosges  Mountains  under  the  care  of  her  nurse 
Martha  and  her  husband  Bertrand.  In  order  that  she  may  not 
realise  her  blindness,  the  King  has  forbidden  the  word  "light"  to 
be  used  in  her  presence.  The  girl  is  sad  without  knowing  why. 
Her  friends  bring  her  flowers  and  try  to  amuse  her,  but  in  vain. 
She  falls  asleep  in  the  garden,  and  is  carried  into  the  castle  by 
her  nurse.  The  King  arrives,  accompanied  by  the  famous 
Moorish  physician,  Ebn-Khakya.  The  latter  says  he  must  see 
lolanthe,  even  in  her  sleep,  before  he  can  pronounce  an  opinion 
as  to  her  sight.  After  a  time  he  informs  the  King  that  she  can 
only  be  cured  by  a  great  desire  to  see ;  therefore  she  must  be 
made  conscious  of  her  condition.  The  King  refuses  to  follow 
this  advice.  Robert,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  the  Knight,  de 
Vaudemont,  come  by  accident  to  the  castle.  The  former  has 
been  betrothed  from  childhood  to  lolanthe,  and  is  now  on  his 
way  to  King  Rene's  court  in  order  to  woo  his  future  bride.  He 
has  never  seen  her,  and  is  in  no  hurry  to  wed.  They  see  the 
notice  which  warns  them  that  it  is  death  to  enter  the  castle 
grounds.  But  Vaudemont  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  maiden 
asleep  on  the  terrace,  and  is  spell-bound.  Robert  tries  to  make 
him  leave  these  haunts  of  witchcraft,  but  he  refuses,  and  the 
Duke  goes  to  summon  his  men  in  order  that  he  may  carry  off  his 
friend  by  force.  A  duet  between  Vaudemont  and  lolanthe.  He 
does  not  realise  her  blindness  until  she  asks  him,  "  What  is 
light  ?  "  He  breaks  through  the  atmosphere  of  secrecy  in  which 
she  lives.  She  knows  she  is  blind  and  longs  for  light.  King 
Rene  is  horror-stricken,  but  Ebn-Khakya  reminds  him  that  now 
her  sight  may  be  restored.  To  stimulate  her  desire,  Rene 
declares  Vaudemont  must  be  put  to  death  unless  her  blindness 
is  cured.  lolanthe  is  prepared  to  undergo  any  pain  to  save 
Vaudemont,  whom  she  loves.  The  physician  leads  her  away. 
Robert  of  Burgundy  returns  with  his  men.  He  recognises  King 
Rene,  and  begs  to  be  freed  from  his  obligation  to  marry  his 
daughter.  The  King  consents,  and  promises  lolanthe's  hand  to 
Vaudemont.  Her  girl  friends  arrive  on  the  scene  and  announce 
that  the  cure  is  successful.  lolanthe  appears  with  bandaged 
eyes.  Ebn-Khakya  takes  off  the  handkerchief,  and  her  sight  is 
restored.  The  opera  concludes  with  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving. 


APPENDIX    C 


EXTRACTS   FROM   GERMAN    PRESS    NOTICES 
DURING  TCHAIKOVSKY'S  TOURS  ABROAD 

IN    1888   AND    1889 


LEIPZIG  "  SlGNALE" 

"January,  1888. 

"So  far  we  have  only  become  acquainted  with  three  or  four 
works  by  Peter  Tchaikovsky,  a  follower  of  the  Neo,  or  young, 
Russian  school  of  'storm  and  stress'  composers,  and  these 
works,  to  speak  frankly,  have  not  won  our  sympathies ;  not 
because  the  composer  is  lacking  in  talent  and  skill,  but  because 
the  manner  in  which  he  employs  his  gifts  is  repellent  to  us. 
Equally  frankly  we  are  ready  to  confess  that  we  went  to  hear  the 
Suite  (op.  43)  included  in  this  programme,  somewhat  in  fear  and 
trembling,  being  prepared  for  all  kinds  of  monstrosities,  distor- 
tions, and  repulsiveness.  But  it  turned  out  otherwise.  .  .  .  The 
Fugue  and  Introduction  at  the  beginning  of  the  Suite  bore 
honourable  witness  to -the  composer's  contrapuntal  science;  of 
the  other  movements — the  Divertimento,  Intermezzo,  Marche 
miniature,  and  Gavotte — the  march  seems  least  worthy  of  praise, 
for  it  merely  recalls  the  tea-caddy-decoration  style  of  art  applied 
to  music,  and  rather  spoils  than  enhances  the  work. 

"The  composer,  who  conducted  his  Suite,  must  have  been 
equally  pleased  with  the  way  in  which  it  was  played  and  the 
reception  accorded  by  the  public.  For  the  Gewandhaus  audience, 
in  recalling  him  twice  ^  paid  Herr  Tchaikovsky  a  compliment 
rarely  bestowed  on  any  but  a  few  of  the  most  prominent  com- 
posers of  the  day.  He  will  carry  away  the  impression  that  there 
is  no  question  of  Russophobia  among  musical  people  in  Leipzig. 

"E.  BERNSDORF." 
762 


APPENDIX   C  763 

"MUSIKALISCHES  WOCHENBLATT,"  NO.  3  JAHRGANG  XIX 

^January  \2th,  1888. 

"  Leipzig.  The  first  week  of  the  New  Year  was  really  rich  in 
interesting  musical  events.  At  the  twelfth  Subscription  Concert 
Herr  Tchaikovsky  conducted  his  orchestral  Suite  (op.  43).  .  .  . 
Undoubtedly  the  choice  of  this  work  was  not  calculated  to  dis- 
play the  composer  to  the  Gewandhaus  audience  in  his  full 
creative  strength.  The  Suite  opens  with  a  very  promising 
Fugue,  cleverly  and  effectively  worked  out,  and  continues  very 
passably  well  with  a  Divertimento  and  an  Intermezzo,  two  move- 
ments which  are  not  profound,  but  possess  much  charm  of 
sonority.  The  last  two  movements — Marche  miniature  and 
Gavotte — deteriorate  so  distinctly  into  a  mere  pattern  of  sounds, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  derive  from  them  any  real  artistic  enjoy- 
ment. The  sister  work,  of  which  Siloti  gave  several  movements 
last  season,  is  far  stronger  and  more  original.  Still  less  can 
op.  43  be  compared  with  the  two  chamber  works  played  at  the 
concert  of  the  Liszt- Verein  :  the  deeply  reflective  Trio  dedicated 
to  the  memory  of  Nicholas  Rubinstein,  and  the  Quartet,  delight- 
ful in  every  movement,  but  wonderful  as  regards  the  Andante. 
.  .  .  The  Liszt- Verein  presented  Herr  Tchaikovsky  with  a 
splendid  laurel- wreath." 


"NEUE  ZEITSCRIFT  FUR  MUSIK,"  No.  2 

"  LEIPZIG,  January  \\th,  1888. 

"Besides  the  exhaustively  developed  Fugue,  which  displays 
great  contrapuntal  skill  and  sureness,  all  the  rest  is  of  second- 
rate  musical  interest.  We  feel  this  the  more  strongly  because  the 
composer  has  been  impolitic  enough  to  pad  out  his  fleeting  ideas 
into  pretentious  movements  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  duration. 
What  is  the  use  of  a  monotonous  fugato  which  comes  into  the 
Introduction  before  the  Fugue  itself?  In  the  remaining  movements 
we  are  conscious  that  the  music  has  a  '  society  tone,'  which  finds 
expression  in  a  pleasant  conversational  style :  it  has  an  aroma  of 
Bizet,  Delibes,  and  Co.,  and  is  sometimes  reminiscent  of  the 
heroes  of  French  Grand  Opera  and  sometimes  of  Wagner. 
Naturally  such  methods  only  produce  a  frivolous  eclecticism  that 
can  lead  to  no  lasting  results.  Besides  its  aimless  length — forty- 
five  minutes — this  Suite  impresses  us  most  by  its  evidences  of 
submission  to  the  shallow  tastes  of  the  hour.  Here  Tchaikovsky 


764  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

is  posing  too  much  in  the  part  of  Proteus ;  consequently  he  is  not 
all  that  he  can  be. 

"  A  far  happier  and  more  sympathetic  view  of  Tchaikovsky  is 
presented  by  his  great  Trio  in  A  minor  (op.  50) — also  of  extra- 
ordinary length— and  the  String  Quartet  (op.  n).  .  .  .  These 
works  are  of  far  superior  quality  and  finer  material ;  they  have 
intellect,  temperament,  and  imagination ;  here  the  composer 
never  descends  to  the  commonplace.  The  Trio — especially  the 
Pezzo  elegiaco — bears  the  imprint  of  a  profound  seriousness, 
impregnated  with  sorrow  and  lamentation.  The  Quartet,  which 
was  composed  much  earlier,  shows  chiefly  a  pleasing  naivete. 
The  Andante  is  our  favourite  movement ;  we  might  compare  it 
to  a  slumbering  lily  of  the  valley.  «  B^ERNHARD  VOGEL." 

"  LEIPZIGER  TAGEBLATT  " 

"  LEIPZIG,  January  6tti,  1888. 

"  We  give  decided  preference  to  the  first  movement  of  the 
Suite  (op.  43),  especially  as  regards  the  Fugue,  the  subject  of 
which,  being  full  of  energy  and  easily  grasped,  offers  material  for 
sustained  and  interesting  development,  in  which,  one  after 
another,  all  the  instruments  take  part,  until  the  movement  is 
steadily  worked  up  to  a  brilliant  and  effective  close.  The  Intro- 
duction pleased  us  less,  partly  on  account  of  its  being  spun  out, 
but  also  because  its  contents  are  only  of  mediocre  quality.  The 
Divertimento  treats  a  folk  melody,  which  is  interesting  in  itself, 
and  is  also  very  effective,  thanks  to  variety  of  instrumentation. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  Intermezzo,  in  which  the  'cellos 
have  a  pleasing,  but  in  no  way  remarkable,  melody.  This  move- 
ment suffers  equally  from  its  prolixity.  The  little  March,  given 
to  the  wood  wind  and  violins,  is  in  the  national  style,  and  owes 
its  effect  chiefly  to  the  orchestration.  Here  the  flageolet  tones 
of  the  violins  produce  a  most  original  effect.  The  Gavotte, 
which  forms  the  last  movement,  cannot  lay  claim  to  great  appre- 
ciation;  its  effect  is  rather  superficial.  The  hearty  applause 
after  each  movement  was  intended  rather  for  the  composer  than 
for  his  work." 

"  HAMBURG  CORRESPONDENT  " 
"SIXTH  PHILHARMONIC  CONCERT 

"  HAMBURG,  January  2oth,  1888. 

"  We  cannot  deny  to  Tchaikovsky  originality,  temperament,  or 
a  bold  flight  of  fancy,  although  when  he  is  possessed  by  the 


APPENDIX    C  765 

spirit  of  his  race  he  overthrows  every  limitation.  All  logic  is 
then  thrown  to  the  winds,  and  there  begins  a  Witches'  Sabbath  of 
sound  which  offends  our  sight  and  hearing,  especially  the  latter. 
Flashes  of  genius  mingle  with  musical  banalities ;  delicate  and  in- 
tellectual touches  with  effects  which  are  often  ugly.  There  is 
something  uncompromising,  restless,  and  jerky  about  his  work. 
In  spite  of  all  his  originality,  and  the  unrestrained  passion  of  his 
emotions,  Tchaikovsky  is  too  eclectic  in  his  tendencies  ever  to 
attain  to  independence  in  the  highest  meaning  of  the  word.  An 
artist's  originality  does  not  lie  in  the  fact  that  he  brings  us  what  is 
strange  and  unusual.  What  deludes  the  senses  is  far  from  suffi- 
cient to  satisfy  the  intellect.  Tchaikovsky  is  a  gifted,  highly 
cultured,  interesting  artist.  An  artist  who  knows  how  to  excite  us 
by  his  ideas,  but  whom  we  should  not  venture  to  describe  as  a 
creative  force  in  the  highest  sense.  His  music  is  too  deeply 
rooted  in  a  one-sided  national  tendency ;  but  when  he  passes 
these  limits  the  eclectic  becomes  prominent,  who  uses  all  the 
influences  he  has  assimilated,  although  in  his  own  original  way. 
It  is  not  what  Tchaikovsky  says  that  is  new,  but  his  manner  of 
saying  it.  He  likes  to  take  wild  and  sudden  leaps,  allows  himself 
to  be  carried  away  by  the  mood  of  the  moment,  and  spins  these 
moods  out  as  much  as  possible,  padding  them  largely  with  pathos 
and  concealing  the  lack  of  really  great  thoughts  by  means  of 
dazzling  colour,  unusual  harmonic  combinations,  and  lively, 
exotic  rhythms.  «  SITTARD  " 

"FREMDENBLATT" 
"  SIXTH   PHILHARMONIC   CONCERT 

"  HAMBURG,  January  2oth,  1888. 

"The  Serenade  was  given  to  the  public  about  1883.  The 
first  and  third  movements  are  the  most  important,  yet,  even  at  its 
weightiest,  it  is  not  worthy  to  be  placed  beside  the  works  of  our 
latest  German  composers.  This  movement  shows  some  similarity 
in  form  to  the  old  French  overture,  as  appears  from  its  division 
into  three  parts  and  the  Introduction  in  slow  time.  The  second 
movement,  a  Valse  Tempo  in  the  dominant,  is  as  out  of  keeping 
with  the  leading  emotion  of  the  opening  movement  as  is  the 
Finale — which  is  not  always  very  lofty  in  conception.  Un- 
doubtedly the  highest  recognition  would  be  accorded  to  the 
Elegie  (third  movement)  if  it,  too,  had  more  in  common  with  the 
first  movement.  This  sense  of  unity  is  lacking,  in  spite  of 
the  admirable  development  of  the  parts,  while  the  key  of  D 
major,  and  the  second  sequence  of  dominants  leading  to  C,  is 


;66  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

not  calculated  to  give  coherence  to  the  whole.  From  the  point 
of  view  of  instrumentation  the  Serenade  is  admirably  worked  out, 
and  the  means  selected  are  so  well  handled  that  it  is  worthy  to 
rank  with  numerous  other  serenades  for  strings  which  have  been 
turned  out  by  skilled  artists  in  recent  years.  If  in  the  Serenade 
many  fundamental  principles  of  form  have  been  violated,  this 
method  of  procedure,  which  might  be  attributed  to  an  effort  after 
novelty,  stands  in  no  approximate  relationship  to  the  music  of 
the  Pianoforte  Concerto  (op.  23),  a  work  which  will  hardly  please 
German  musicians  in  its  entirety.  This  music  bears  so  essentially 
the  Russian  stamp  that  we  must  be  able  to  view  it  entirely 
from  a  national  standpoint  in  order  to  find  it  interesting.  The 
Concerto,  in  three  extended  movements,  consists  of  an  endless 
chain  of  phrases,  and  offers  only  a  superficial  development  of  the 
themes.  Each  phrase  stands  by  itself,  and  has  no  connection 
with  the  next.  It  is  not  lacking  in  noisy  passages,  which  cost  the 
pianist  enormous  efforts,  but  none  of  these  are  the  outcome  of 
logical  necessity.  It  is  true  that  the  work  is  not  lacking  in  clever- 
ness, but  how  regrettable  that  such  an  eminent  talent  should  go 
so  far  astray  !  .  .  .  The  Theme  and  Variations  from  the  Third 
Suite  for  orchestra  brought  the  Tchaikovsky  performance  to  a 
close.  Here  the  composer  gives  us  something  clever  and  skilful, 
at  least  as  regards  the  first  half  of  the  work ;  but  our  pleasure  in 
these  welcome,  solid  tone-structures  only  lasts  until  the  violin 
solo  in  B  minor.  After  this  number  the  work  runs  a  superficial 
course,  culminating  in  a  very  commonplace  Tempo  di  Polacca. 
If  this  is  really  Russian,  and  justified  as  such,  Tchaikovsky's 
music  may  have  its  special  qualities  for  Russian  artists.  German 
composers,  however,  are  not  likely  to  derive  from  it  any  satis- 
factory results  which  could  forward  the  development  of  their 

art  •  •  •  "EMIL  KRAUSE." 


"  HAMBURGER  NACHRICHTEN  " 

"January  2oM,  1888. 

"Yesterday  Tchaikovsky's  Serenade  (op.  48),  his  Pianoforte 
Concerto  op.  23,  and  Theme  and  Variations  from  op.  55  were 
given  at  the  Philharmonic  Concert.  In  all  these  works  we 
observed  the  same  half-popular  (volkstumlich\  half-trivial  element 
as  regards  the  melodic  invention.  We  need  not,  however,  lay 
stress  upon  this  in  referring  to  the  individual  movements,  since 
the  absence  of  what  seems  indispensable  to  a  German  audience 
is  not  a  fault  in  the  composer.  The  Concerto  is  least  calculated 


APPENDIX    C  767 

to  convince  the  hearer  of  Tchaikovsky's  power  of  logical  develop- 
ment and  perfection  of  form.  The  first  movement  conceals  its 
very  primitive  formal  structure  under  an  overpowering  rush  of 
harmonic  effects,  of  dazzling  kaleidoscopic  passages,  of  intricate 
treatment  of  the  subjects  and  of  orchestral  colour.  .  .  .  The 
Serenade  is  more  lucid  in  design  and  far  clearer  in  expression. 
Its  sonority  is  full  and  satisfying,  and  it  displays  much  variety  of 
colouring.  By  the  divisions  of  the  violins,  the  skilful  employ- 
ment of  violas  and  'cellos,  and  the  judicious  combination  and 
alternation  of  bowed  and  pizzicato  passages,  the  composer 
succeeds  in  producing  many  picturesque  effects.  Interrupted 
cadences  and  frequent  changes  of  rhythm  break  the  flow  of  the 
work  as  a  whole,  but  it  leaves  a  general  impression  of  freshness, 
animation,  and  attractiveness.  The  subjects  of  the  fluently 
handled  first  Allegro  have  a  piquant  quality.  The  second  move- 
ment is  a  slow  Valse.  Far  more  distinctive  is  the  first  subject  of 
the  third  movement — with  its  old-world  colouring — which  re- 
sembles the  introduction  to  the  Finale,  and  is  treated,  moreover, 
in  the  genuine  Russian  folk-style,  being  heard  first  in  C  major 
and  E  flat  major.  In  the  Variations  from  the  Third  Suite  the 
composer  gives  us  a  convincing  proof  of  his  musical  science  and 
fruitful  imagination.  The  theme  itself  is  only  of  mediocre  quality, 
musically  speaking,  but,  as  the  movement  proceeds,  it  increases 
in  importance,  in  depth,  and  complexity  of  the  parts,  until  in  the 
Finale  it  is  worked  up  to  a  somewhat  obtrusive  apotheosis  of 
elemental  strength,  the  outcome  of  the  mere  rhythm.  This  was 
regarded  as  a  signal  for  departure  by  a  large  section  of  the 
audience,  who  were  too  much  concerned  in  safeguarding  their 
own  tympanums  to  feel  compunction  for  the  disturbance  they 
caused  to  the  more  strong-minded,  who  sat  it  out  to  the  end." 

"VossiCHE  ZEITUNG,"  No.  68 

"BERLIN,  February  9^,  1888. 

"  Not  only  among  the  new  school  of  his  compatriots,  but 
among  all  contemporary  composers  Tchaikovsky  is  now  reckoned 
as  one  of  the  most  gifted.  He  possesses  intellect,  originality,  and 
invention,  and  is  master  alike  of  the  old  and  the  more  modern 
forms.  Compared  with  his  fellow-countryman  Rubinstein, 
through  whose  nature  runs  a  vein  of  greater  amplitude  and 
warmth — Tchaikovsky  has  more  charm  and  judgment.  Both 
have  in  common — what  we  find  in  every  Russian  composer  with 
whom  we  are  acquainted — a  tendency  to  exaggeration  of  form  and 
expression ;  but  here  again,  Tchaikovsky  seems  to  possess  the 


768  PETER    ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

most  artistic  refinement.  The  songs  which  Frl.  Friede  sang 
yesterday,  and  the  String  Quartet,  are  remarkable  for  delicacy  of 
invention  and  beauty  of  form.  The  overture  to  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  and  the  Pianoforte  Concerto,  played  by  Herr  Siloti,  are  full 
of  characteristic  animation  and  originality  of  rhythm,  harmony, 
and  instrumentation.  But  here  also  the  defects  to  which  we 
have  alluded  are  clearly  perceptible.  The  overture  becomes 
wearisome  by  the  spinning  out  of  the  same  idea ;  while,  accord- 
ing to  our  conception  of  the  play  which  inspired  this  work,  the 
use  of  the  big  drum  seems  rather  a  coarse  effect. 

"  In  the  first  movement  of  the  Concerto  we  cannot  reconcile 
ourselves  to  the  noisy,  somewhat  common-place,  principal  sub- 
ject, nor  to  the  frequent  and  violent  interruptions  of  the  musical 
flow  of  the  work.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Andante,  which  is 
a  delightful  combination  of  poetry  and  humour,  and  the  ebullient 
Finale,  in  the  national  style,  offer  only  fresh  and  undisturbed 
enjoyment.  A  clever  and  animated  Fugue  from  one  of  the  Suites 
bore  witness,  by  its  admirable  technical  treatment,  to  the  com- 
poser's mastery  of  polyphonic  forms." 

"BERLINER    BORSEN-COURIER,"   NO.    5 

"February  qth,  1888. 

"The  concert — long  awaited  with  great  excitement — at  which 
Tchaikovsky,  the  leading  representative  of  the  modern  Russian 
school,  was  to  conduct  a  series  of  his  own  works,  took  place 
yesterday.  .  .  .  Among  the  orchestral  works  the  Solemn  Overture, 
"  1812"  was  given  for  the  first  time.  The  Romeo  and  Juliet 
overture  is  already  known  here ;  it  is  a  symphonic  poem  which 
describes  more  or  less  the  tragic  fate  of  the  two  lovers.  The 
Introduction  shows  deep  emotion,  while  the  Fugue  displays  great 
contrapuntal  skill  (of  which  the  modern  Russian  composers  give 
astonishing  evidence)  and  force  of  ideas.  The  Andante  from 
op.  n,  a  charming  cabinet  picture,  most  tenderly  elaborated, 
appeals  directly  to  the  heart,  and  is  beautiful  in  its  sonority.  .  .  . 
The  overture  "1812"  is  a  characteristic  tone-picture  of  strife 
and  victory,  more  ideally  than  realistically  depicted,  especially 
the  former.  But  by  far  the  most  weighty  and  lasting  impression 
was  made  by  the  Pianoforte  Concerto,  which  Alexander  Siloti 
played  with  taste  and  brilliant  virtuosity  upon  a  fine  full-toned 
Bliithner.  It  is  one  of  Tchaikovsky's  best  works,  fresh  in  inven- 
tion, glowing  with  passion,  beautiful  as  regards  its  themes  and 
admirable  in  its  development.  ..."  "  O  E  " 


APPENDIX   C  769 

"KOLNISCHE  ZEITUNG,"  No.  45 

"THE   EIGHTH   GURZENICH   CONCERT. 


"February  14^,  1889. 

"  Tchaikovsky's  Third  Suite  made  a  striking  impression  upon 
all  who  heard  it.  Although  the  German  public  do  not  possess  the 
key  to  many  incidents  in  this  work  —  because  we  know  so  little  of 
Russia  and  its  people,  and  what  we-  know  is  not  founded  upon 
accurate  observation—  yet  the  music  is  so  inspired,  masterly  and 
original,  that  it  cannot  fail  to  make  a  lasting  impression  upon  any 
educated  and  progressive  audience.  .  .  . 

"It  is  a  question  whether  Tchaikovsky  would  not  have  done 
well  to  further  elucidate  the  titles  of  the  various  movements  — 
Elegie,  Valse  melancolique,  Scherzo,  etc.  —  by  the  addition  of  a 
programme.  But  however  desirable  this  may  sometimes  seem  to 
listeners  who  are  not  Russians,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  pleasant 
and  stirring  character  of  this  work,  which  we  may  best  define  as 
a  play  of  moods,  would  not  have  suffered  in  being  tied  down  by 
any  precise  definition.  .  .  . 

"  This  music  is  of  the  kind  which  is  pre-eminently  calculated  to 
stir  our  feelings  by  its  richness  of  colour,  its  peculiarities  of 
tonality  —  in  one  variation  the  Phrygian  mode  is  successfully 
employed  —  and  by  its  clever  workmanship,  which  betokens  an 
unusual  skill  in  the  working  out  of  the  parts.  If  an  ingenious 
development  of  a  theme,  or  an  unusual  effect  of  orchestration, 
occasionally  predominates  over  the  rest,  on  the  whole  it  is  the 
voice  of  the  heart  which  is  heard  throughout  the  work,  lending 
even  an  undertone  to  the  glitter  and  hum  of  the  Scherzo.  The 
composer  attains  to  this  highest  of  all  qualities  by  means  of  the 
wealth  and  charm  of  his  melodic  inspiration,  the  simplicity  of  his 
musical  idiom,  and  the  freshness  of  his  invention.  .  .  .  Tchai- 
kovsky not  only  possesses  the  gift  of  melodic  invention,  he  pays 
due  honour  to  Melody  itself,  and  makes  all  the  other  elements  of 
music  hold  their  breath  when  Melody  is  speaking.  .  .  .  Sim- 
plicity is  still  the  sign  of  profound  truth,  and  of  the  promptings  of 
inspiration.  Tchaikovsky's  creative  power  prevents  this  quality 
from  degenerating  into  superficiality." 


7/0  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

"  GENERAL-ANZEIGER  " 

"FRANKFORT,  February  i6fb,  1889. 

"A  novelty  headed  the  programme:  the  Third  Suite,  op.  55, 
by  Peter  Tchaikovsky,  who  is  generally  spoken  of  as  the  head  of 
the  young  Russian  school  of  musicians.  ...  As  the  last  notes  of 
the  Suite  died  away,  there  followed  a  burst  of  applause  so  hearty 
and  so  continuous,  that  nothing  equal  to  it  has  been  accorded  to 
any  novelty  during  recent  years,  except  perhaps  when  Richard 
Strauss  conducted  his  First  Symphony.  .  .  .  The  impression 
made  by  Tchaikovsky's  work  was  dazzling  rather  than  profound ; 
strictly  speaking,  it  was  not  so  much  the  Suite  as  a  whole  that 
won  this  recognition,  as  the  bright,  fresh,  brilliantly  orchestrated 
Polonaise  with  which  it  comes  to  an  end.  The  second  and  third 
movements,  Valse  melancolique  and  Scherzo,  only  evoked 
moderate  applause  :  both  numbers  are  in  the  minor,  and  seem 
to  be  stamped  with  a  peculiar,  national,  Sarmatian  character,  they 
are  so  strange  and  gloomy.  After  the  Valse  melancolique, 
which  is  quite  in  keeping  with  its  title,  a  real  Scherzo  would  have 
followed  better;  a  Scherzo  in  the  sense  of  the  classical  sym- 
phonists,  rather  than  a  number  of  this  kind,  which  is  rich  in 
rhythmic  devices,  but  poor  in  that  true  gaiety  which  we  expect  to 
find  in  a  piece  entitled  Scherzo.  In  this  number  the  com- 
bination of  6/8  and  2/4  has  an  unfortunate  effect,  for  the  wind 
instruments  always  seem  to  come  in  a  little  too  late.  The 
variations  are  most  of  them  very  interesting,  and  one  or  two 
appeal  direct  to  the  heart.  The  Fugue  is  strong,  effective,  and 
most  skilfully  worked  out." 

"  DRESDNER  NACHRICHTEN  " 

"February  22nd,  1889. 

"...  The  first  number  on  the  programme — Tchaikovsky's 
Fourth  Symphony  in  F  minor — acted  like  some  magic  spell 
upon  the  audience,  somewhat  disappointed  at  the  non-appear- 
ance of  the  singer  Frl.  Leisinger.  The  Russian  master — now 
undoubtedly  the  first  composer  of  his  nation — not  only  impressed 
us  as  a  personality,  but  proved  himself  to  be  such  in  his  Sym- 
phony, then  given  for  the  first  time  in  Dresden.  The  work 
is  planned  upon  large  and  bold  lines  and  carried  out  in  the 
same  spirit.  The  ideas  are  clear-cut  and  concise;  the  melody 
and  harmony  distinctive  and  strikingly  characteristic.  Occa- 
sionally, as  in  the  first  and  last  movements,  the  composer 


APPENDIX   C  771 

indulges  in  an  orgy  of  sound,  for  which  he  evokes  all  the  re- 
sources of  the  modern  orchestra.  At  these  moments  he  produces 
with  true  orchestral  virtuosity  the  most  piquant  and  unusual 
effects,  while  always  remaining  master  of  the  situation ;  saying 
precisely  what  he  has  to  say,  and  avoiding  all  empty  phrases  and 
rambling  statements.  What  he  expresses,  however,  is  spirited, 
and  full  of  elemental  strength  and  weight.  With  all  this,  Tchai- 
kovsky knows  how  to  strike  a  note  of  tenderness.  The  third 
movement  of  his  Symphony — the  Scherzo  '  pizzicato  ostinato ' — 
is  a  masterly  invention,  which  stands  alone  in  musical  literature. 
The  vein  of  national  feeling  which  runs  throughout  the  work 
accords  admirably  with  its  style  and  beauty.  Here  and  there 
it  echoes  the  melancholy  and  sadness  of  some  solemn,  wailing 
folksong,  but  so  inspired  and  perfect  is  the  treatment  that  both 
heart  and  intellect  are  completely  satisfied. 

"  An  equally  fine  impression  was  made  by  his  Pianoforte  Con- 
certo (op.  23).  This  impression  would  have  been  still  more 
profound  if  the  Symphony  had  not  come  first;  it  was  a  case  in 
which  le  mieux  est  Fennemi  du  bien.  The  Concerto  is  symphonic 
in  structure,  and  the  piano  part  is  indissolubly  welded  with  the 
orchestration.  Nor  for  a  moment  can  we  fail  to  recognise  great 
mastery  of  form,  inspiration,  and  emotion ;  but  these  qualities  do 
not  impress  the  hearer  so  strongly  as  in  the  Fourth  Symphony.  .  .  . 

"  DRESDNER-ANZEIGER  " 

"February  22nd,  1889. 

"Tchaikovsky  may  congratulate  himself  upon  the  complete 
success  of  his  Fourth  Symphony  (F  minor),  which  opened  the 
programme  of  the  Fifth  Philharmonic  Concert.  This  Symphony 
proved  to  be  irreproachable  as  regards  form  :  a  virtue  not  to  be 
underrated  in  a  modern  production.  This  original  work  is  not 
lacking  in  vital  and  stirring  material  which  corresponds  to  its 
nobility  of  form,  although  it  is  so  saturated  with  national  colour 
that  it  affects  us  strangely  at  first.  These  melodies,  harmonies, 
and  rhythms,  derived  from  the  spirit  of  the  Russian  folksongs 
and  dances,  unlike  other  attempts  of  the  kind,  possess  sufficient 
weight  and  character  to  be  used  as  symphonic  material.  .  .  . 
Equally  good  and  artistic  is  his  Pianoforte  Concerto  in  Bl?  minor, 
which  is  more  of  the  new  German  school.  This  Concerto  is 
a  gigantic  work  of  its  kind,  which  demands  for  its  execution  the 
most  perfect  technique  and  extraordinary  physical  strength.  .  .  . 

"FERDINAND  GLEICH." 


772  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

"VossiCHE  ZEITUNG" 

"February  2jt/i,   1889. 

"The  interest  of  yesterday's  Popular  Concert  given  by  the 
Philharmonic  Orchestra  was  enhanced  by  the  presence  of  Herr 
Tchaikovsky,  who  conducted  two  of  his  own  works  :  a  Serenade 
for  strings  and  the  symphonic  poem,  Francesco,  da  Rimini.  The 
Serenade  is  a  cheerful  composition,  fluent,  pleasing,  and  not 
without  a  touch  of  humour.  It  is  not  remarkable  for  originality, 
so  much  as  for  a  skilful  and  artistic  treatment  of  the  thematic 
material,  particularly  noticeable  in  the  last  movement  of  the 
work.  The  valse  section,  which  is  especially  full  of  charm  and 
graceful  in  the  elaboration  of  the  melodies,  had  to  be  repeated. 
We  had  already  heard  the  symphonic  poem  at  Bilse's  concerts. 
This  time  the  work  did  not  impress  us  more  favourably,  Some- 
times it  repels  by  its  violence;  sometimes  it  wearies  by  the  constant 
repetition  of  an  insignificant  subject.  A  few  clever  episodes 
and  occasional  moments  in  which  it  keeps  within  the  limits  of  the 
beautiful  make  the  general  effect  of  this  work  not  too  intoler- 
able. .  .  ." 

"BERLINER  TAGEBLATT" 

"February  27,  1889. 

".  .  .  .  Tchaikovsky's  Serenade  for  strings  consists  of  a  series 
of  charming  little  pieces,  in  the  subjects  of  which  we  seem 
to  recognise  now  and  again  a  well-known  face  from  some  operetta. 
But  these  reminiscences  are  so  delightfully  decked  out  that  we 
are  very  pleased  to  meet  them  again.  .  .  .  Musically  speaking,  the 
last  movement  is  the  most  important.  Here  the  composer  has 
evolved  a  number  of  clever  variations  from  a  Russian  theme. 
The  symphonic  poem,  Francesca  da  Rimini^  displays  much 
interesting,  but  glaring,  tone-colour.  What  Dante  has  described 
in  ten  lines  is  reproduced  with  effort  in  innumerable  bars  of 
music ;  we  are  endlessly  wallowing  in  the  harshest  discords,  until 
the  attentive  hearer  undergoes  a  martyrdom  scarcely  less  painful 
than  the  poor  souls  who  are  blown  hither  and  thither  in  Dante's 
Whirlwind.  Tchaikovsky  is  a  gifted  tone-poet,  whom  we  have 
often  recognised  as  such ;  but  this  symphonic  poem  exceeds  all 
limits  of  what  is  acceptable.  ..." 


ALPHABETICAL   INDEX   OF   NAMES 


Adamov,  25 

Aertel,  25 

Albert  D',  459 

Albrecht,  Karl  (Constantine),  6,  258, 

260,  564,  705,  713 
Alferaki,  Achilles,  666 
Alexandrov,  Elizabeth  M.,  58 
Alexis.     See  Safronov 
Alexciev,  E.  A.,  23 
Alexeiev,  Nich.,  392,  433 
Altani,  449,  470,  608 
Ambrose,  397,  412 
Apukhtin,  Alex,  25,  26,  713 
Arensky,  Anton  S.,  49^,  520,  521-3, 

609,  6 10,  620,  622,  664 
Art6t,    Desiree,    95-101,   470,   548, 

579 

Asantchevsky,  M.,  128,  150 
Assier,  Alexandra.    See  Tchaikovsky 
Assier,  Michael,  2 
Auer,  Leopold,  413,  415 
Aus-der-Ohe,  Adele,  642-4, 649, 654, 

655 

Ave-Lallemant,  546,  580 

Bach,  J.  S.,  518 

Bachmetiev,  N.,  347 

Balakirev,  Mily  A.,  81,  104-5,  IO7~ 

11,  252,  407,  484 
Barcewicz  (Bartzevich),  318,  674 
Bartsal,  395,  435 
Beethoven,  311,  517,  567~9>  57o 
Begichev,  79,  93 
Bellini,  421 
Beresovsky,  298 


Berger,  Francesco,  558 

Berlioz,    Hector,  87,  88,  296,   330, 

335 

Bernadaky,  555 
Bernhardt,  Sarah,  432 
Bernuth,  545 

Bertenson  (the  brothers),  723 
Bessel,  V.,  145-6,  360,  437 
Bevignani,  134 
Bilse,  319,  334,  373,  385 
Bizet,  253,  329,  382 
Boito,  Arrigo,  708 
Borodin,  81,  252,  578 
Bortniansky,  298,  406-7,  410 
Botkin,  P.  S.,  638,  646,  655 
Brahms,    Joh.,    240-1,    319,    372, 

499,    5!9,   541-2,  569,    570,  571, 

580 

Brandoukov,  A.,  513 
Breitner,  368 
Brema,  Marie,  709 
Brodsky,    Adolf,   413-15,  47o,  451, 

547,  663 

Bruch,  Max,  287,  320,  708 
Billow,  Hans  von,  157,  167,  175,  291, 

320,  334,  347,  368,  471-3,   544, 

545 
Busoni,  547 

Carnegie,    Andrew,    636,    639,    643, 

645-9,  650 
Carnegie,  Mrs.,  650 
Chopin,  296 
Colonne,  193,  335,  340,  347,   354, 

367,  372,  470,  513,  545 


773 


774 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 


Constantino,  Constantinovich,  Grand 
Duke,  374,  470,  519,  560,  562, 
S67-7I.  589,  590,  607,  610,  670 

Constantine,  Nicholaevich,  Grand 
Duke,  145,  159,  177,  352,  374, 

435,  479 
Cui,  Caesar,  81,  148,  151,  173,  251-2, 

358,  443,  463,  479,  557 

Damrosch,  Leo,  368,  643 

Damrosch,  Mrs.,  639 

Damrosch,  Walter,  635,636,  637,  651 

Dannreuther,  648 

Dargomijsky,  81,  388,  565-6 

Daudet,  A.,  434,  460 

Davidov,  Alexandra  I.  (b.  Tchai- 
kovsky), 29,  40,  71,  72,  74,  83, 
113,  122,  172,  189,  201,  367,  410, 
672 

Davidov,  A.  I.,  56 

Davidov,  Elizabeth,  56,  76 

Davidov,  Karl,  128 

Davidov,  Leo  V.,  29,  56 

Davidov,  Nich.,  58,  59 

Davidov,  Tatiana,  526 

Davidov,  Vera  (m.  Boutakov),  76, 
83 

Davidov,  Vera  (m.  Rimsky-Korsa- 
kov),  567,  574 

Davidov,  Vladimir  (Bob),  471,  581, 
582,  583,  625,  662-3,  665,  673, 
674,  676,  685,  688,  697,  702-4, 
713,  714-15,  721,  724 

Delibes,  241,  253,  375,  434,  513 

Dickens,  Charles,  384,  422,  590 

Diemer,  Louis,  470,  513,  707 

Door,  Anton,  78,  692 

Dostoievsky,  55 

Dubuque,  78 

Diirbach,  Fanny,  5-9,  17,  677,  698 

Diitsch,  45 

Dvorak,  Anton,  550,  573,  579 

Eliot,  George,  715 
Erdmannsdorfer,  Max,  430, 431,  450, 
473 


Fet,  567,  667,  670 
Figner,  Medea,  618 
Figner,  N.,  600,  602,  618 
Finck,  H.  T.,  644 
Fitzenhagen,  347,  588 
Flaubert,  493 
Friede,  548,  674 
Friedenthal,  368 

Galitsin,  Alexis,  Prince,  57 

Gerhard,  V.,  25 

Gerke,  A.,  48 

Gevaert,  59 

Glazounov,  Alex.,  443,  470,  576,  578, 

599,  723 
Glinka,   54,  308,   311,   377-8,   388, 

530,  563-4,  576,  607 
Gluck,  518 
Gogol,  72,  493 
Goldmark,  287,  333 
Gounod,  556 
Green,  Plunket,  709 
Grieg,    Edward,    470,    541-2,    547, 

708 
Grijimal,  148,  180 

Halir,  Carl,  470 

Hanslick,  191,  414-15 

Hausen,  656 

Haydn,  518 

Helena   Pavlovna,    Grand   Duchess, 

155,  156 

Henschel,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  709 
Hubert,   Nich.  A.,  55,  165-6,  323, 

470,  483,  567,  569 
Hugo,  Victor,  383 
Hyde,  Mr.  and   Mrs.,  636-8,  641, 

643,  645,  646,  649,  653 

Ippolitov-Ivanov,  M.  M.,  470,  500, 
508,  529,  571,  606,  608,  620 

"Invincible  Band,  The,"  90-3,  104, 
105,  134,  358,  622 

Issakov,  V.,  375 

Ivanov,  479 


INDEX   OF   NAMES 


775 


Jahn,  Otto,  388 

Joachim,  320 

Joukovsky,  299,  331 

Jurgenson,  Peter  I.,  67,  68,  265,  286, 
3i3»  325,  332,  334,  335,  344,  35', 
357,  36i,  370,  376,  384,  404-7, 
410,  411,  417,  419,  420,  425,  428, 
435,  437,  458,  483,  498,  5oi,  5H, 
534,  537,  542,  557,  564,  575»  577, 
579,  582,  604,  610,  617,  622,  623, 
663,  678,  685,  687,  705,  712,  715, 
721 

Kadmina,  E.,  145 

Kamensky  (Kamenskaya),  E.,  393, 

398-9,  428 
Kashkin,  Nich.,  68,  127,  201,  493, 

601,  671,  717-8 
Katkov,  M.,  127,  416 
Klein,  649 
Klimenko,  I.  A.,  86,  116,  121,  132, 

202 

Klimenko,  P.,  420 
Klindworth,    Karl,    119,    I2O,    319, 

579,  686 

Knabe  (see  Mayer),  654-5 
Knorr,  Ivan,  577 
Kondratiev,  G.,  146,  159,  620 
Kondratiev,  Nich.,  124, 168-9,  243-4, 

53i,  533 

Konius,  Julius,  626,  663 
Konius,  George,  703 
Konius,  Leo,  715 
Konradi,  G.  K.,  245 
Konradi,  Nich.,  177,  164,  712-13 
Korbay,  649 
Korganov,  508 
Kossman,  78,  576 
Kotek,  Joseph,  204,  205,  240-1,  356, 

415,  464,  471 
Kross,  Gustave,  55,  174 
KUndinger,  Rudolf,  30,  31,  68 1 

Lagroua,  28 

Lalo,  280,  326-9,  434,  5 '3 

Lamara,  Mme.,  5J4,  685 


Lamoureux,  513 

Laroche,  Hermann,  42,  43,  62,  63, 

102,  127,  151,  163,  330,  448,  493, 

514,  564,  588,  667 
Laub,  Ferd.,  78,  148,  168,  288 
Lavrovsky  (Lavrovskaya)  Eliz.,  123, 

202,  717 
Lefebre,  G.,  513 
Legoshin,  333,  470,  585 
Lermontov,  268 
Leschetizky,  T.,  45,  48,  128 
Limnander,  436 

Liszt,  52,  1 8 1,  241,  356,  412,  685 
Litolff,  H.,  52 
Liadov,  470 
Lowenson,  438 
Lomakin,  30,  45 
Litke,  A.,  Count,  662,  723 

Mackar,  Felix,  494,  501,  512 

MacMahan,  Mrs.,  647,  650 

Mahler,  Gustave,  675 

Maitland,  Professor,  708,  712 

Maleziomov,  Sophia,  160 

Marcel,  300,  345,  380 

Maslov,  T.,  25 

Massenet,  326,  333,  385,  515,  556, 
582 

Mayer  (Knabe  and  Mayer),  635, 
637-8,  640,  651,  657 

Meek,  Nadejda  Filaretovna  von,  143, 
165,  204-16,  217,  219,  221-3,  225- 
54,  260,  261,  263,  266-92,  295-9, 
301-4,  305-13,  3M-I6,  322,  323, 
325,  326-31,  333,  334,  335,  338, 
340,  34i,  342,  344,  345-8,  349, 
350,  352,  353,  357,  363,  367-72, 
374,  377-99,  401-4,  406,  407,  4" 
-13,  415-18,  420-5,  427,  429-36, 
439,  448,  452,  454  459-63,  471-3, 
476-9,  483,  486, 487,  497-500,  502 
-4,  5°5,  5°7,  513,  5!5,  5J9,  524, 
527,  529,  53°-2,  536,  548,  558, 
561,  562,  564,  566,  571,  572,  574, 
578,  579,  584,  586,  588,  596,  597, 
605,  608,609,  611-17,  724 


776 


PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 


Melnikov,  422 

Menter,  Sophie,  470,  626 

Merkling,   Anna    (b.    Tchaikovsky), 

432,  456,  470,  495,  601,  603,  675, 

687,  717 
Merten,  114 
Metzdorf,  Richard,  55 
Michael  Angelo,  237,  368,  371,  568 
Milioukov,  A.  I.  (Tchaikovsky),  217, 

219 
Mozart,  W.  A.,  287-9,  296,  378,  387, 

432,  518,  552,  622,  717 
Musset,  A.  de,  315-16,  432 
Moussorgsky,  252,  358,  461 

Napravnik,  Edward,  134,  147,  148, 
159,  188,  352,  375,  393,  405,  463, 
486,  520,  586,  618 

Napravnik,  V.,  470,  546,  677 

Neitzel,  Otto,  577 

Nikisch,  Arthur,  549 

Nikonov,  Sophia,  106 

Nilsson,  133 

Obolensky,  Prince,  453 
Odoevsky,  Prince,  78,  87,  88 
Osberg,  71, 
Ostrovsky,  79,  85 
Oudin,  Eugene,  712 

Paderewski,  556 

Padilla,  101,  548 

Palchikov,  Marie,  13 

Panaev,  375 

Pasdeloup,  191-2 

Pavlovsky     (Pavlovskaya),     Emilie, 

45°,  470,  475,  478,  481,  486,  495, 

525 

Philipov,  15 
Piccioli,  32,  33 
Plestcheiev,  A.,  72 
Pollini,  675 
Polonsky,  155,  479 
Poushkin,  424,  445,  596 
Prianichnikov,  399,  617,  673 


Rachinsky,  S.,  103,  112,  113 

Razoumovsky,  D.,  405 

Reinecke,  Carl,  542-43 

Reno,  Alice,  644-45,  657 

Reno,  Morris,  634,  635,  636-37, 
638-40,  645-50,  652,  657,  668 

Richter,  Hans,  191,  290,  414 

Rieger,  550 

Riemann,  Hugo,  721 

Rimsky-Korsakov,  Nat.  N.  (b.  Pour- 
gold),  ill,  134,  137 

Rimsky-Korsakov,  Nich.  A.,  81, 
89,  172,  175,  177,  187,  251,  480, 
520 

Ristori,  Adelaide,  28 

Ritzel,  648 

Rioumin,  C.,  115 

Romeike,  643,  648 

Ross,  Ivy,  640,  641,  652 

Rousseau,  J.  J. ,  340 

Rubinstein,  Anton  G.,  45,  47,  48, 
49,  62,  81,  291,  342-3,  375,  385, 
388,  437,  439,  503,  587,  591-5, 
681-4 

Rubinstein,  Nicholas  G.,  61,  64,  67, 
165-8,  225-6,  231,  254,  262,  342, 
335,  397,  401,  403,  419 

Rummel,  368,  644,  646 

Sachs,  William  de,   368,   640,  641, 

642,  643,  649 
Sadovsky,  79 
Safonov,  V.,  604,  608 
Safronov,  Alexis,  162,  324,  394,  410, 

488,  490,  595,  602,  662,  680,  714, 

728 
Saint-Saens,  C.,  176,  193,  434,  435, 

707-10 

Sand,  George,  314 
Sapellnikov,  470,  544,  546-8,  582-3, 

626 

Sarasate,  707 
Sardou,  432 
Sauer,  Emil,  470,  577 
Sauret,  415 
Schobert,  Eliz.,  27 


INDEX   OF   NAMES 


777 


Schirmer,  640,  643 

Schopenhauer,  266,  269.  270,  273 

Schubert,  Franz,  570 

Schumann,  Robert,  412 

Seidl,  Anton,  643,  652 

Serov,  54,  55,  155,  282-4,  388 

Sgambati,  412,  605 

Shilovsky,  C.,  79,  180 

Shilovsky,  Count  Vassiliev-,  79,  93, 

117,  713 

Shpajinsky,  474,  478,  482 
Stanford,  Charles  Villiers,  709 
Siloti,  Alex.,  470,  499,  54*.  547,  55°, 

564,  670,  686 
Sklifasskovsky,  470 
Skobeliev,  425 
Slaviansky,  55 
Smetana,  586 
Soloviev,  V. ,  354 
Spinoza,  589 
Stassov,  V.  V.,  81,  134-7,  161,  194, 

465,  52o 

Strakaty,  Dr.,  550 
Strauss,  Richard,  473,  545 

Taneiev,  Serge,  149, 175-6,  191,  192, 

193.  255-8,  292-5,  323,  363»  366, 
408,  429,  458,  476,  483,  484,  501, 
537,  621,  671,  687 

Tarnovsky,  Eliz.,  73 

Tchaikovsky,  Alexandra  A.,  3-4, 
19,  2O,  22 

Tchaikovsky,  Alexandra  I.  (see 
Davidov),  5 

Tchaikovsky,  Anatol,  17,  35,  69-75, 
85,  86,  94,  96,  100,  107,  112,  114, 
115,  121,  122,  147,  154,  162,  164, 
168,  186,  216,  223,  224,  351,  352, 
354.  356,  410,  419,  453,  507,  509, 
554,  664,  677,  679,  696,  702 

Tchaikovsky,  Anna  P.    See  Merkling 

Tchaikovsky,  George,  679 

Tchaikovsky,  Hyppolite,  5,  506,  559 

Tchaikovsky,  Ilia  Petrovich,  23, 
4,  9,  27,  95-9,  122,  133,  138,  150, 
217,  220,  367 


Tchaikovsky,  Modeste,  17,  35,  69- 
75,  86,  94,  97,  112,  114,  115,  118, 
I32,  !33,  146,  154,  160,  163,  168, 
177-181,  184,  186,  200,  203,  245, 
299-301,  3°4,  3*7,  330,  337,  338-9, 
348,  35i,  373,  380,  383,  384,  400, 
401,  403,  405,  422,  426,  427,  438, 
441,  443,  444,  451,  459,  466,  482, 
493,  498,  5°°»  5o6-8,  510,  512, 
516,  521,  524,  529,  533,  541,  544, 
547,  56o,  576,  581,  582,  584,  589, 
600-6,  609,  626-8,  629-35,  662, 
674,  681,  685,  688,  694,  697,  701, 
704,  706,  707,  708,  714,  7i6 

Tchaikovsky,  Nich.,  4,  15,  33,  124, 
698,  724 

Tchaikovsky,  Peter  P.,  27,  123 

Tchaikovsky,  P.  V.  (Anatol's  wife), 
512 

Tchaikovsky,  Zinai'da,  3,  9,  15,  21 

Tchekov,  589 

Thackeray,  W.  M.,  244 

Thomas,  Ambroise,  512 

Thome,  556 

Thomson,  Cesar,  678 

Tkachenko,  393~94,  395~97,  444 

Tolstoi,  A.  Count,  284,  504 

Tolstoi,  Leo,  Count,  194,  200,  336, 

444,  454,  5J7,  589 
Tourgeniev,  I.  S.,  123,  375,  512 
Tretiakov,  Helen,  401 
Tretiakov,  P.  M.,  430,  688 

Vakar,  Plato,  19,  21 
Viardot,  Pauline,  512,  582 
Vietinghov-Scheel,  516 
Volkmann,  R.,  303 
Vsievolojsky,  I.,  442,  482,  520,  544, 
574,  624 

Wagner,  Richard,  181-5,  238-39, 
344-5,  431-2,  436,  438,  452,  461-2, 
581,  622 

Weber,  464 

White,  Mrs.,  648 


778 


PETER    ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 


Wieniawsky,  Henry,  45,  374 
Wieniawsky,  Joseph,  78,  357 
Wurst,  Richard,  319 

Zabel,  Eugen,  592,  681-4 


Zaremba,  40,  41,  45-9 
Zet,  Julius,  564 
Zola,  383,  498,  676 
Zvantsiev,  180,  623 
Zveriev,  713 


ALPHABETICAL  INDEX   OF  TCHAIKOVSKY'S 
WORKS 


Andante  from  Quartet  in  D,  Op.  II  (1872),  arranged  for  String  Orchestra, 

626,  700 
Articles  on  Music  (1871-6),  90,  127,  131,  138,  181 

Barcarole  for  pianoforte,  Op.  37a,  No.  6  (1876),  289 

Cantata,  Schiller's  "Ode  to  Joy,"  for  chorus  and  orchestra  (1866),  62 
Cantata,  written  for  the  opening  of  the  Polytechnic  Exhibition  (1872),  128, 

129,  390 

Cantata,  Coronation,  "Moscow"  (1883),  435,  436,  440,  442 
Caprices  d'Oxane,  Les,  Opera  (1885).     See  also  "Vakoula  the  Smith"  and 

"  Cherevichek,"  155-8,  162,  171,  177,  188-91,  193,  194,  247,  306,  323, 

355,  359,  475,  478,  482,  499,  500,  502,  521,  525,  526,  610 
Casse-Noisette  Suite,  Op.  7ia,  taken  from  the  Ballet,  The  Nut-cracker,  677, 

678,  699,  700 

Chant  sans  Paroles.     See  "  Souvenir  de  Hapsal" 
Chant  Elegiaquc,  Op.  72,  471 

Cherevichek  (The  Little  Shoes).     See  "  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane" 
Children's  Album,  twenty-four  easy  pieces  for  pianoforte,  Op.  39  (1878),  298 
Children's  Songs,  sixteen,  Op.  54  (1883),  447,  623 
Chorus  of  Insects,  from  unfinished  opera  Mandragora  (1870),  112,  113 
Cinderella,  Ballet,  122 
Concerto  for  pianoforte,  No.  I,  B  flat  minor,  Op.  23  (1875),  l62»  l65~7,  I71* 

174-6,  313,  318,  347,  368,  545,  548,  551,  577,  583,  642-4,  649,  654,  699 
Concerto  for  pianoforte,  No.  2,  Op.  44  (1880),  360,  424,  574,  626,  646 
Concerto  for  pianoforte,  No.  3,  Op.  75,  717 

Concerto  for  violin,  Op.  35  (1878),  282,  286,  413,  415,  425,  426,  557 
Concert-Fantasia.     See  "Fantasia" 

Dance  of  Serving- Maids,  from  the  opera  Voyevode,  54,  58,  61,  86,  87,  89 
Domino  Noir.     See  "  Recitatives" 
Duets,  six,  Op.  46  (1881),  407 

Enchantress,  The,  Opera  (1887),  478,  481,  482,  495,  497,  500,  516,  527,  528, 
530,  536-8,  601,  603 

779 


;8o  PETER   ILICH   TCHAIKOVSKY 

Eugene  Oniegin,  Opera,  Op.  24  (1878),  202,  203,  217,  225,  231,  255,  257, 
260,  293,  295,  304,  312,  334,  355,  381,  392,  395,  396,  417,  424,  439, 
445,  452,  463,  464,  468,  490,  502,  572,  573,  587,  598,  603,  672,  675, 
679 

Fantasia,  Concert— for  pianoforte  and  orchestra,  Op.  56  (1884),  459,  476,  537, 

556 

Fatum  (Destiny),  Symphonic  Poem,  Op.  77  (1868),  79,  92,  97,  103-5,  329- 
Festival-Overture  on  the  Danish  National  Hymn,  Op.  15  (1866),  79,  80,  329 
Festival- Overture  "1812"  Op.  49  (1880),  390,  405,  426,  528,  551,  576,  699 
Folksongs,  Russian,  twenty-five  for  pianoforte,  four  hands,  97 
Francesca  da  Rimini,  Fantasia  on  Dante's  poem,  Op.  32  (1876),  180,  188, 

193,  201,  212,  313,  319,  320,  366,  465,  528,  537,  709 

Gevaert,  Translation  of  his  "  Course  of  Instrumentation,"  59 

Hamlet,  Overture-Fantasia,  Op.  67a  (1885),  572,  621,  644,  703,  719 
Hamlet  (Incidental  music  to  the  Tragedy),  Op.  67b(i89i),  619,  620,  621,  623 

lolanthe  (King  Rene's  Daughter),  Opera,  Op.  69  (1891),  623,  624,  662,  667, 
673,  686,  687,  694-6 

Italian  CapHccio,  Op.  45  (1880),  376,  385,  394,  396,  426 

Ivan  the  Terrible.  Arrangement  of  A.  G.  Rubinstein's  overture  for  piano- 
forte, four  hands  (1869),  112 

Legend.     See  "  Children's  Songs  " 

Liturgy  of  St.  John  Chrysostom,  Op.  41  (1878),  299,  313,  347,  348,  392,  394, 
412,  623 

Maid  of  Orleans,  The,  Opera  (1879),  325.  331.  332,  334,  346,  348,  355,  359, 
370,  377,  381,  383,  389,  393,  396,  398,  399,  412,  417,  425,  428,  430,  722 
Mandragora.     See  "  Chorus  of  Insects  " 

Manfred,  Symphony,  Op.  58  (1885),  484-7,  490,  495,  497,  498,  520 
March,  Coronation,  436,  658 

March,  Slav  or  Russo-Serbian,  Op.  31  (1876),  201,  626 
March,  Funeral,  from  "Hamlet,"  Op.  67b  (1891),  621,  623 
Mazeppa,  Opera  (1883),  423,  424-9,  441-3,  447-52,  454,  470,  499,  500-2,  505 
Mozartiana,  Suite  No.  4,  Op.  61  (1^17),  533,  534,  537 

Night,  vocal  quartet  from  Mozart's  Fantasia,  No.  4,  717 
Nut-cracker,  The,  Ballet,  Op.  71  (1892),  623-5,  662-4,  686,  696 
Nut-cracker,  Suite.     See  "Casse- Noisette" 

Oprichnik,  The,  Opera  (1872),  113,  115,  116,  128,  129,  132,  134,  138,  145-52, 

154,  158,  162,  163,  171-4,  212,  359,  371,  505,  574,  722 
Overture,  C  minor  (1866),  70,  76 


INDEX    OF   WORKS  781 

Overture,  F  major  (1865),  61,  73,  76 

Overture,  Romeo  and  Juliet.     See  "  Romeo  and  Juliet " 

Overture,  Hamlet.     See  ' '  Hamlet " 

Pezzo  Capriccioso,  for  violoncello,  Op.  62  (1887),  556,  595 
Pianoforte  Pieces \  three,  Op.  9  (1871),  121 
Pianoforte  Pieces,  twelve,  Op.  40  (1878),  298,  305 
Pianoforte  Pieces,  eighteen,  Op.  72  (1893),  704 

Pique  Dame  (The  Queen  of  Spades),  Opera,  Op.  68  (1890),  598,  600,  601-4, 
611,  613,  615,  617-19,  624,  625,  670-3,  677,  694,  700 

Quartet,  No.  I,  D  major,  Op.  II  (1871),  123,  124,  196,  201,  289,  319,  543, 

548,  605 

Quartet,  No.  2,  F  major,  Op.  22  (1874),  147,  148,  160,  355 
Quartet,  No.  3,  E  flat  major,  Op.  30  (1876),  179,  180,  188,  289,  368,  465,  657 
Quartet,  No.  4,  B  flat  major  (1865),  61 

Recitatives  and  Choruses  for  Auber's  Opera,  "  Le  Domino  Noir,"  96,  101 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  Overture-Fantasia  (1870),  92,  107,  114-16,  119-22,  135, 

157,  174,  I9I-3,  241,  289,  316,  320,  375,  465,  548,  551,  678 
Russian  Scherzo  and  Impromptu,  Op.  61  (1867),  59 

Serenade,  for  strings,  Op.  48  (1880),  390,  508,  528,  545,  551,  555-8,  634 
Serenade  Mtlancolique,  for  violin  and  orchestra,  B  flat  minor,  Op.  26  (1875), 

626 

Sextet,  "Souvenir  de  Florence,"  606,  609,  618,  662,  677 
Sleeping  Beauty,  The,  Ballet,  Op.  66  (1889),  574,  585,  586,  596,  597,  624 
Sniegourotchka  (The  Snow-Maiden),  Incidental  music  to  Ostrovsky's  "Legend 

of  the  Spring,"  138,  426 

Sonata,  G  major,  for  pianoforte,  Op.  37  (1879),  298,  313,  355 
Song,  "So  schnell  vergessen,"  121 
Songs,  seven,  Op.  47  (1881),  407 
Songs,  six,  Op.  73  (1893),  704 
Souvenir  de  Florence.     See  "  Sextet " 

Souvenir  de  Hapsal,  three  pianoforte  pieces,  Op.  2  (1867),  83,  318 
Storm,  The,  Overture  to  Ostrovsky's  play  of  same  name,  Op.  76  (1865),  50, 

57 
Suite,  No.  i,  in  D,  for  orchestra,  Op.  43  (1879),  316,  324,  356,  361,  363-6, 

368,  37i,  375.  543.  546,  583,  635,  642,  645 

Suite,  No.  2  in  C,  for  orchestra,  Op.  53  (1883),  441,  444,  446,  450,  528 
Suite,  No  3  in  G,  for  orchestra,  Op.  55  (1884),  455~9>  47I~3»  545,  551,  556, 

557,  558,  575,  576,  582,  626,  645,  646 
Suite,  No.  4  ("  Mozartiana  ").     See  ' '  Mozartiana. " 
Swan  Lake,  The,  Ballet,  Op.  20  (1876),  172-3,  201,  241 
Symphony,  No.  I,  G  minor,  "Winter  Dreams,"  Op.  13  (1868),  76,  80,  89, 

114,  447 


;82  PETER   ILICH    TCHAIKOVSKY 

Symphony,  No.  2,  C  minor,  "Little-Russian,"  Op.  17  (1873),  '32,  134,  137 

146,  148,  360,  397 

Symphony,  No.  3,  D  major  Op.  29  (1875),  172,  174,  179,  289,  290 
^Symphony,  No.  4T  F  minor.  Qp.  36  (1877),  202,  215,  222,  244,  255,  258,  265, 

272,  275-7,  292-5,  326,  355,  367,  368 

Symphony,  No.  5,  E  minor,  Op.  64  (1888),  561,  566,  574,  575,  580,  581,  719 
Symphony,  No.  6,  in  B  minor  (The  Pathetic),  Op.  74  (1893),  7O2>  7°3>  7J4- 

16,  718-22 

Trio,  in  A  minor,  for  piano,  violin,  and  'cello,  Op.  50  (1882) 

The  Tempest,  Fantasia  for  orchestra  from  Shakespeare's  play,  Op.  18  (1873), 

92,  135-7,  140,  144-7,  159,  161-3,  211,  313,  318,  337-9,  340,  347,  465, 

574,  626,  700 

Undine,  Opera  (1869),  106,  113,  114,  116,  117,  132,  299,  316,  329,  359 
Undine,  Ballet  (1886),  520 

Vakoula  the  Smith.     See  "  Les  Caprices  d'Oxane  "  and  "  Cherevichek  " 
Valse- Scherzo,  for  violin  and  orchestra,  Op.  34  (1877),  318 
Variations  on  a  Rococo  Theme,  for  'cello  and  orchestra,  Op.  33  (1876),  194,  347 
Vesper  Service,  The,  Op.  52,  405,  408,  421,  437 

Voyevode,  The,  Opera,  Op.  3  (1868),  58,  82,  83,  94,  100,  102,  105,  329,  358 
Voyevode,  The,  Symphonic  Ballade  on  Poushkin's  Poems,  Op.  78,  662,  663, 
667,  670-672,  719 

Winter  Dreams.     See  "  Symphony  No.  I  " 
Year,  The,  "1812."    See  "Festival-Overture" 


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410  The  life  &  letters  o 

C4C313       Peter  Ilich  Tchaikovsky 


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