To N. F. von Meck.“Kamenka,September19th(October1st), 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: theArchbishopmust be called theWanderer(?); ‘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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka,September19th(October1st), 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: theArchbishopmust be called theWanderer(?); ‘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.”
To N. F. von Meck.“Kamenka,September28th(October10th), 1880.“Nicholas Rubinstein has requested me to write an important 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 Meck.
“Kamenka,September28th(October10th), 1880.
“Nicholas Rubinstein has requested me to write an important 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 Meck.“Kamenka,October10th(22nd), 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 overture[82]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 Meck.
“Kamenka,October10th(22nd), 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 overture[82]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 Meck.“Kamenka,October14th(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 Meck.
“Kamenka,October14th(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 Meck.“Kamenka,October14th(26th), 1880.“Of course I am no judge of my own works, but I can truthfully say that—with very few exceptions—they have all beenfeltandlivedby 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 trueand 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 thetimbreof 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 explain 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 intimbre; 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 conflict, 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 thatkingof 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: (1) As a solo instrument; (2) opposed to the orchestra; (3) for accompaniment, 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 donot; and this is the reason why there is always something artificial about a pianoforte trio, each of the three instruments being continually called upon to express what the composer imposes upon it, rather than what lies within itscharacteristic 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 individualities; therefore it is not surprising that we should not agree in every particular.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka,October14th(26th), 1880.
“Of course I am no judge of my own works, but I can truthfully say that—with very few exceptions—they have all beenfeltandlivedby 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 trueand 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 thetimbreof 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 explain 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 intimbre; 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 conflict, 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 thatkingof 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: (1) As a solo instrument; (2) opposed to the orchestra; (3) for accompaniment, 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 donot; and this is the reason why there is always something artificial about a pianoforte trio, each of the three instruments being continually called upon to express what the composer imposes upon it, rather than what lies within itscharacteristic 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 individualities; 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 Meck from St. Petersburg:—
“November27th(December9th), 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 thatEugene Onieginis 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 thestage. As I never intended it for this purpose, I did nothing on my own initiative to get it produced.”
“November27th(December9th), 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 thatEugene Onieginis 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 thestage. 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 Meck.“Moscow,December14th(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 Petersburg in future.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Moscow,December14th(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 Petersburg in future.”
To N. F. von Meck.“Moscow,December17th(29th), 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 between 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 hisdeath. 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 discoveredin 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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Moscow,December17th(29th), 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 between 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 hisdeath. 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 discoveredin 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 (18th) theItalian Capricciowas performed for the first time under the conductorship of Nicholas Rubinstein. Its success was incontestable, although 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 appreciation; 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 18th (30th). 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 theRouss. This letter complained thatthe 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 concluded 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 “Rosenbluhm” 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 ofEugene Onieginat the Opera House in Moscow took place on January 11th (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 experience. 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 appreciation of the crowd and won a lasting success.
To N. F. von Meck.“Moscow,January12th(24th), 1881.“Yesterday was the first night ofEugene Oniegin. I was oppressed by varied emotions, both at the rehearsals and on the night itself. At first the public was very reserved; 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 sufferingsare the outcome of the internal conflict which exists between 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 Meck.
“Moscow,January12th(24th), 1881.
“Yesterday was the first night ofEugene Oniegin. I was oppressed by varied emotions, both at the rehearsals and on the night itself. At first the public was very reserved; 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 sufferingsare the outcome of the internal conflict which exists between 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 Meck.“Moscow,January19th(31st), 1881.“Dear, kind friend, it has come to this: I take up my pen to write to you unwillingly, because I feel the immediate 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 intolerable 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 Oniegindoes 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 myItalian Capriccio, declaring it to be vulgar; and Cui prophesies thatThe Maid of Orleanswill turn out a commonplace affair.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Moscow,January19th(31st), 1881.
“Dear, kind friend, it has come to this: I take up my pen to write to you unwillingly, because I feel the immediate 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 intolerable 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 Oniegindoes 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 myItalian Capriccio, declaring it to be vulgar; and Cui prophesies thatThe Maid of Orleanswill turn out a commonplace affair.”
To N. F. von Meck.“Petersburg,January27th(February8th), 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 great 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 thatI am not keeping him for his own sake, but in orderto acquire the reputation of a benefactor. He added that he was not disposed to be thevictimof 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 exclusively 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....”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Petersburg,January27th(February8th), 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 great 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 thatI am not keeping him for his own sake, but in orderto acquire the reputation of a benefactor. He added that he was not disposed to be thevictimof 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 exclusively 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 21st (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 movement was entirely new.
To N. F. von Meck.“Petersburg,February1st(13th), 1881.“ ... The mounting ofThe Maid of Orleanswill be very beggarly. The Direction, which has spent 10,000 (roubles) upon a new ballet, refuses to sacrifice a kopeck for the opera.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Petersburg,February1st(13th), 1881.
“ ... The mounting ofThe Maid of Orleanswill 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,February7th(19th), 1881.“The opera has been postponed until February 13th. 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 prevent 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 declaredI had no right to do such a thing without permission. Sometimes I feel inclined to withdraw the score and leave the theatre.”
To the same.
“Petersburg,February7th(19th), 1881.
“The opera has been postponed until February 13th. 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 prevent 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 declaredI had no right to do such a thing without permission. Sometimes I feel inclined to withdraw the score and leave the theatre.”
The production ofThe Maid of Orleansat 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.
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.”
“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 impression, and first became aware through a telegram from Petersburg in theNeue Freie Pressethat, in spite of an ovation from the public,The Maid of Orleanswas “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.
Impatient for the sunshine, Tchaikovsky broke his journey at Florence, whence he wrote to Nadejda von Meck on February 19th (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.”
“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 Meck.“Rome,February22nd(March6th), 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. Itwas 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 misanthropical 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 soirée by Countess Sollogoub. I did not expect to have to lead this kind of life in Rome. I shall have to leave, for no doubt other invitations 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 N. F. von Meck.
“Rome,February22nd(March6th), 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. Itwas 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 misanthropical 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 soirée by Countess Sollogoub. I did not expect to have to lead this kind of life in Rome. I shall have to leave, for no doubt other invitations 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,February26th(March10th), 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.
“Rome,February26th(March10th), 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,March3rd(15th), 1881.“Yesterday I was about to write to you when Prince Stcherbatiov came to tell me of the Emperor’s death,[83]which was a great shock to me. At such moments it isvery 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’hôte 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.
“Naples,March3rd(15th), 1881.
“Yesterday I was about to write to you when Prince Stcherbatiov came to tell me of the Emperor’s death,[83]which was a great shock to me. At such moments it isvery 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’hôte 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.“March13th(25th), 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 Hotel (1) 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,[84]who never left Nicholas Rubinstein during the last six days of his life. She gave me all details.”[85]
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“March13th(25th), 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 Hotel (1) 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,[84]who never left Nicholas Rubinstein during the last six days of his life. She gave me all details.”[85]
To N. F. von Meck.“Paris,March16th(28th), 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 believedthat you could reallyhateandnever 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 wickedness. Such really good people as you do not know whathatemeans 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 fromignorance. 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 andperfecthappiness would reign on earth; and we are imperfect creations, who only understand 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 expressingvaguethoughtsvaguely—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, Ifeelit 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 offaithpenetrates 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,to pardon and enlighten me; and it is sweet to say to Him, ‘Lord, Thy will be done,’ because I know His will isholy. 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 behumble, 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 painful. But faith has now taken root in me, and I took comfort from the thought that it was God’sinscrutableandholywill.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Paris,March16th(28th), 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 believedthat you could reallyhateandnever 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 wickedness. Such really good people as you do not know whathatemeans 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 fromignorance. 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 andperfecthappiness would reign on earth; and we are imperfect creations, who only understand 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 expressingvaguethoughtsvaguely—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, Ifeelit 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 offaithpenetrates 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,to pardon and enlighten me; and it is sweet to say to Him, ‘Lord, Thy will be done,’ because I know His will isholy. 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 behumble, 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 painful. But faith has now taken root in me, and I took comfort from the thought that it was God’sinscrutableandholywill.”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.“Paris,March17th(29th), 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 Meck is on the verge of bankruptcy. I heard this talked about in Moscow, and begged her to tell me the truth. From herreply 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 Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Paris,March17th(29th), 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 Meck is on the verge of bankruptcy. I heard this talked about in Moscow, and begged her to tell me the truth. From herreply 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 Meck.“Kamenka,April29th(May11th), 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 Nadejda von Meck.
“Kamenka,April29th(May11th), 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,May7th(19th), 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 P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka,May7th(19th), 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 Meck.“Kamenka,May8th(20th), 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.”
To Nadejda von Meck.
“Kamenka,May8th(20th), 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.”
To P. Jurgenson.“Kamenka,May9th(21st), 1881.“I beg you to send me the following:—“(1) 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’sHistory of Church Music.I send thanks in anticipation.”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka,May9th(21st), 1881.
“I beg you to send me the following:—
“(1) 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’sHistory of Church Music.
I send thanks in anticipation.”
Tchaikovsky describes his condition at this time as “grey, 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,June17th(29th), 1881.“Last winter, at N. Rubinstein’s request, I wrote a Festival Overture for the concerts of the Exhibition, entitledThe 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 E. Napravnik.
“Kamenka,June17th(29th), 1881.
“Last winter, at N. Rubinstein’s request, I wrote a Festival Overture for the concerts of the Exhibition, entitledThe 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,June21st(July3rd), 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 asKhvaliteyandVelikoe slavoslovie—do not present any great difficulties; but those that change—such as the canonical verses toGospodi vozzvakh—are a science in themselves, for which a lifetime of studywould 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 Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Kamenka,June21st(July3rd), 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 asKhvaliteyandVelikoe slavoslovie—do not present any great difficulties; but those that change—such as the canonical verses toGospodi vozzvakh—are a science in themselves, for which a lifetime of studywould 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,June21st(July3rd), 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 imposing 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; consequently there is nothing derogatory in my editing this rubbish for the sake of what I can earn. My pride, however, suffers from it. Think it over and send me a reply.”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka,June21st(July3rd), 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 imposing 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; consequently there is nothing derogatory in my editing this rubbish for the sake of what I can earn. My pride, however, suffers from it. Think it over and send me a reply.”
OPENING BARS FROM THE OVERTURE “1812” From the MS. in the possession of P. Jurgenson, MoscowOPENING BARS FROM THE OVERTURE “1812”From the MS. in the possession of P. Jurgenson, Moscow
To N. F. von Meck.“Kamenka,July3rd(15th), 1881.“I am very glad, my dear, you like my songs and duets. I will take this opportunity of telling you which of these vocal compositions I care for most. Among the duetsI prefer ‘Thränen’ (‘Tears’), and among the songs: (1) 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 N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka,July3rd(15th), 1881.
“I am very glad, my dear, you like my songs and duets. I will take this opportunity of telling you which of these vocal compositions I care for most. Among the duetsI prefer ‘Thränen’ (‘Tears’), and among the songs: (1) 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,July31st(August12th), 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 P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka,July31st(August12th), 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 Meck.“Kamenka,August24th(September5th), 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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka,August24th(September5th), 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.”
To S. I. Taneiev.“August25th(September6th), 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 indispensableremplissage, 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 naïve 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 Conservatoire; at present this is impossible. I cannot answer for the future. You, on the contrary, seem made to carry on Rubinstein’s work.”
To S. I. Taneiev.
“August25th(September6th), 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 indispensableremplissage, 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 naïve 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 Conservatoire; at present this is impossible. I cannot answer for the future. You, on the contrary, seem made to carry on Rubinstein’s work.”
In one of his letters to Nadejda von Meck, written in 1876, Tchaikovsky says: “I no longer compose anything—a sure indication of an agitated mind.”
From November, 1880, until September, 1881, Tchaikovsky 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) heshould 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 unsuitable surroundings or external hindrances. It points rather to a restless and unhappy frame of mind.
There were numerous reasons to account for this condition.
In the first place he was touched to the quick by the loss of Nicholas Rubinstein. In spite of their many differences 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 Rubinstein’s direction he would experience no disappointment. The great artist had the gift of discovering in Tchaikovsky’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 position there, he had not ceased to take an interest in the musical life of Moscow. After his friend’s death Tchaikovsky 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 composer.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 constantly 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 Tchaikovsky. 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 comparatively 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 1st (13th).
To P. Jurgenson.“Kamenka,October8th(20th), 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 Iloathe 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,October8th(20th), 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 Iloathe 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,October11th(23rd), 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 experience 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.”[86]
To P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka,October11th(23rd), 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 experience 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.”[86]