“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 sixteenbars of choral andinstrumental music, to berepeated three times3r.“For the composition of eightconnecting bars4r.“For four additional lines tothe third verse, at fortykopecks per line1r.60 k.Total8r.60 k.(16/11½)“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.”
“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:—
“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 Meck.“Paris,February5th(17th), 1883.“I have not read Daudet’sL’Evangéliste, 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 influence 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 readiness 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 thatoriginalityconsists in treading under foot all previous traditions of beauty. If we compare 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 Wagner, nothing is being done. In France, on the contrary, we hear much that is new and interesting, much that is fresh and forceful. Of course, Bizet stands head and shoulders above the rest, but there are also Massenet, Délibes, Guirand, Lalo, Godard, Saint-Saëns. All these are men of talent, who cannot be compared with the dryroutinierstyle of contemporary Germans.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Paris,February5th(17th), 1883.
“I have not read Daudet’sL’Evangéliste, 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 influence 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 readiness 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 thatoriginalityconsists in treading under foot all previous traditions of beauty. If we compare 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 Wagner, nothing is being done. In France, on the contrary, we hear much that is new and interesting, much that is fresh and forceful. Of course, Bizet stands head and shoulders above the rest, but there are also Massenet, Délibes, Guirand, Lalo, Godard, Saint-Saëns. All these are men of talent, who cannot be compared with the dryroutinierstyle of contemporary Germans.”
To P. Jurgenson.“Paris,February6th(18th), 1883.“Dear Friend,—To-day I received a telegram from Bartsal,[92]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 absurdity 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 Commission. 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 telegram 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 give you leave to use all possible means to have the matter put in the true light, and so to exonerate me.”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Paris,February6th(18th), 1883.
“Dear Friend,—To-day I received a telegram from Bartsal,[92]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 absurdity 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 Commission. 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 telegram 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 give 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 Meck.“Paris,February24th(March8th), 1883.“Henry VIII., by Saint-Saëns, 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 surprised, for I know his other operas,Samson et Dalila,Etienne Marcel, andLa Princesse Jaune, and all three have strengthened my conviction, that Saint-Saëns 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 theAcadémie 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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Paris,February24th(March8th), 1883.
“Henry VIII., by Saint-Saëns, 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 surprised, for I know his other operas,Samson et Dalila,Etienne Marcel, andLa Princesse Jaune, and all three have strengthened my conviction, that Saint-Saëns 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 theAcadémie 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.”
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 fête, 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 outcome of this mingled feeling of shame and gratitude.
His projected journey to Italy was abandoned, and he decided to remain some weeks longer in Paris.
To P. Jurgenson.“Paris,March9th(21st), 1883.“About the middle of August I received, in Moscow, the manuscript of theVespers, 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 notcomposedmusic 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,March9th(21st), 1883.
“About the middle of August I received, in Moscow, the manuscript of theVespers, 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 notcomposedmusic 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,April14th(26th), 1883.“You reproach me because the pieces Rubinstein played belong to Bessel.[93]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 younotto 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.”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Paris,April14th(26th), 1883.
“You reproach me because the pieces Rubinstein played belong to Bessel.[93]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 younotto 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.”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.“Paris,April14th(26th), 1883“(Thursday in Passion Week).“Dear Modi,—I am writing in a café 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 Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Paris,April14th(26th), 1883“(Thursday in Passion Week).
“Dear Modi,—I am writing in a café 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 Meck.“Paris,May3rd(15th), 1883.“Loewenson’s article, with its flattering judgment of me, does not give me much pleasure. I do not like the repetition of that long-established opinion that I am not adramatic musician, and that Ipanderto the public. What does it mean—to have dramatic capabilities? Apparently 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 speakingpuppets. 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 requirements of the crowd. If opera attracts me from time to time, it signifies that I have as much capacity for this asfor 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 myMaid of Orleanssuitably interpreted, or myMazeppastudied 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 auseless sacrificeto the Moloch of opera....”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Paris,May3rd(15th), 1883.
“Loewenson’s article, with its flattering judgment of me, does not give me much pleasure. I do not like the repetition of that long-established opinion that I am not adramatic musician, and that Ipanderto the public. What does it mean—to have dramatic capabilities? Apparently 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 speakingpuppets. 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 requirements of the crowd. If opera attracts me from time to time, it signifies that I have as much capacity for this asfor 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 myMaid of Orleanssuitably interpreted, or myMazeppastudied 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 auseless sacrificeto the Moloch of opera....”
To N. F. von Meck.“Berlin,May12th(24th), 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 thecentral 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 briefdementito theGauloisthe day I left Paris. I cannot say if it will be published.[94]“To-dayLohengrinis being given. I consider it Wagner’s best work, and shall probably go to the performance. To-morrow I leave for Petersburg.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Berlin,May12th(24th), 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 thecentral 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 briefdementito theGauloisthe day I left Paris. I cannot say if it will be published.[94]
“To-dayLohengrinis being given. I consider it Wagner’s best work, and shall probably go to the performance. To-morrow I leave for Petersburg.”
In April, 1883,Eugene Onieginwas 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. PetersburgViedomosti, in which he said:—
“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....”
“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 Meck.“Petersburg,May24th(June5th), 1883.“I hear the Cantata was admirably sung and won the Emperor’s approval.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Petersburg,May24th(June5th), 1883.
“I hear the Cantata was admirably sung and won the Emperor’s approval.”
To N. F. von Meck.“Podoushkino,June15th(27th), 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 lifeperhapsthere 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.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 suffering 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 N. F. von Meck.
“Podoushkino,June15th(27th), 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 lifeperhapsthere 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.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 suffering 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,[95]July3rd(15th), 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 tormented 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 dissatisfied with myself. And yet the conditions of life are satisfactory: wonderful scenery and the society of those I love....”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Podoushkino,[95]July3rd(15th), 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 tormented 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 dissatisfied 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 asregards his new operaMazeppahe 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 Meck.“Podoushkino,August10th(22nd), 1883.“Yesterday a council was held by the Opera Direction to consider the staging ofMazeppa. Everyone connected 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 moonlight effect in the last act ofMazeppa. I cannot understand 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.[96]“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 thecacoethes scribendipossesses 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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Podoushkino,August10th(22nd), 1883.
“Yesterday a council was held by the Opera Direction to consider the staging ofMazeppa. Everyone connected 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 moonlight effect in the last act ofMazeppa. I cannot understand 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.[96]
“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 thecacoethes scribendipossesses 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.”
XVII
1883-1884
To N. F. von Meck.“Verbovka,September10th(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 ofMazeppa. Allow me, dear friend, to point out other parts of the opera which can easily be studied from the pianoforte score: In Act I. (1), the duet between Maria and Andrew; (2), Mazeppa’sarioso. Act II. (1), the prison scene; (2), Maria’s scene with her mother. Act III., the last duet.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Verbovka,September10th(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 ofMazeppa. Allow me, dear friend, to point out other parts of the opera which can easily be studied from the pianoforte score: In Act I. (1), the duet between Maria and Andrew; (2), Mazeppa’sarioso. Act II. (1), the prison scene; (2), Maria’s scene with her mother. Act III., the last duet.”
To M. Tchaikovsky.“Verbovka,September12th(24th), 1883.“ ... I bought Glazounov’s Quartet in Kiev, and was pleasantly surprised. In spite of the imitations of Korsakov, 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 composer 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 naïve. 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.”
To M. Tchaikovsky.
“Verbovka,September12th(24th), 1883.
“ ... I bought Glazounov’s Quartet in Kiev, and was pleasantly surprised. In spite of the imitations of Korsakov, 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 composer 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 naïve. 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.”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.“Verbovka,September19th(October1st), 1883.“ ... On my arrival here I found a parcel from Tkatchenko 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.”[97]
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Verbovka,September19th(October1st), 1883.
“ ... On my arrival here I found a parcel from Tkatchenko 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.”[97]
To M. Tchaikovsky.“Verbovka,September26th(October8th), 1883.“My Suite progresses slowly; but it seems likely to be successful. I am almost sure the Scherzo (with the Harmonica) and the Andante (‘Children’s Dreams’) will please. My enthusiasm forJudithhas made way for a passion forCarmen, I have also been playing Rimsky-Korsakov’sNight in May, not without some enjoyment.”
To M. Tchaikovsky.
“Verbovka,September26th(October8th), 1883.
“My Suite progresses slowly; but it seems likely to be successful. I am almost sure the Scherzo (with the Harmonica) and the Andante (‘Children’s Dreams’) will please. My enthusiasm forJudithhas made way for a passion forCarmen, I have also been playing Rimsky-Korsakov’sNight in May, not without some enjoyment.”
To Frau von Meck.“Verbovka,September28th(October10th), 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. InPeace and Warhe 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 conventions,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 intensely 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 noDon Juan, noFigaro, noRusslan 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, however, and when I hear the sextet inDon GiovanniI 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 ofabsolute truth, I marvel at the depth ofconditional truth, and my intellect is silenced.“You tell me, dear friend, that in myEugene Onieginthe musical pattern is more beautiful than the canvas on which it is worked. I must say, however, that if my music toEugene Onieginhas 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 versification. 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 passionately 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 surroundings in which she lives, and at once she imagines her ideal has come, and in her passion becomes oblivious of self.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 fromsheer boredom, partly from petty annoyance, but without purpose—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 Frau von Meck.
“Verbovka,September28th(October10th), 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. InPeace and Warhe 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 conventions,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 intensely 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 noDon Juan, noFigaro, noRusslan 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, however, and when I hear the sextet inDon GiovanniI 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 ofabsolute truth, I marvel at the depth ofconditional truth, and my intellect is silenced.
“You tell me, dear friend, that in myEugene Onieginthe musical pattern is more beautiful than the canvas on which it is worked. I must say, however, that if my music toEugene Onieginhas 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 versification. 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 passionately 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 surroundings in which she lives, and at once she imagines her ideal has come, and in her passion becomes oblivious of self.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 fromsheer boredom, partly from petty annoyance, but without purpose—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 Meck.“Kamenka,October11th(23rd), 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: (1) Jeux de sons, (2) Valse, (3) Scherzo burlesque, (4) Rêves d’enfants, (5) Danse baroque.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka,October11th(23rd), 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: (1) Jeux de sons, (2) Valse, (3) Scherzo burlesque, (4) Rêves d’enfants, (5) Danse baroque.”
To N. F. von Meck.“October25th(November6th), 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;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 N. F. von Meck.
“October25th(November6th), 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;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 Meck.“Kamenka,November1st(13th), 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.”
To Frau von Meck.
“Kamenka,November1st(13th), 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.”
Towards the end of November Tchaikovsky left Kamenka 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 preparations forMazeppawere proceeding with exasperating slowness. “It is always the way with a State theatre,” he wrote at this time to Nadejda von Meck. “Much promised, little performed.” While at Moscow, he played his new Suite to some of the leading musicians, who highly approved of the work.
A few days later he went to meet Modeste in Petersburg. 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 connected withMazeppa, 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 Meck.“Moscow,December11th(23rd), 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 themasses; whereas symphony appeals only to a smaller, if more select, public....”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Moscow,December11th(23rd), 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 themasses; whereas symphony appeals only to a smaller, if more select, public....”
Christmas and the New Year found Tchaikovsky still in Moscow, awaiting the rehearsals forMazeppa. 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 hypochondriacal condition. “He needs anurse,” says Tchaikovskyin 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 15th (27th), the rehearsals for the opera began, and with them a period of feverish excitement. The preparations forMazeppahad 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 atMazeppain Moscow took place on February 3rd (15th), 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 ofMazeppa, 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 indulgent to the opera and to its composer. To Nadejda von Meck, 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.”
To E. Pavlovskaya.[98]“Moscow,February4th(16th), 1884.“Dear and superb Emilie Karlovna,—I thank you heartily, incomparable Maria, for your indescribably beautiful performance of this part. God give you happiness and success. I shall never forget the deep impression made upon me by your splendid talent.”
To E. Pavlovskaya.[98]
“Moscow,February4th(16th), 1884.
“Dear and superb Emilie Karlovna,—I thank you heartily, incomparable Maria, for your indescribably beautiful performance of this part. God give you happiness 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 Erdmannsdörfer—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 undisputed success under Erdmannsdörfer’s excellent direction on February 4th (16th), 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 unconditional praise.
The Petersburg performance ofMazeppa, under Napravnik, took place on February 7th (19th). The absence of the composer naturally lessened its immediate success, but the impression was essentially the same as in Moscow: the opera obtained a meresuccès 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 ofMazeppain the two capitals, we must award the palm to the Petersburg critics for the unanimity with which they “damned” the work.
To N. F. von Meck.“Berlin,February7th(19th), 1884.“Early this morning I received a telegram from Modeste, who informs me that the performance ofMazeppain Petersburg yesterday was a complete success, and that the Emperor remained to the end and was much pleased.[99]To-morrow I continue my journey to Paris and from thence to Italy, where I might possibly join Kolya and Anna,[100]unless I should disturb theirtête-à-tête. I dread being alone....”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Berlin,February7th(19th), 1884.
“Early this morning I received a telegram from Modeste, who informs me that the performance ofMazeppain Petersburg yesterday was a complete success, and that the Emperor remained to the end and was much pleased.[99]To-morrow I continue my journey to Paris and from thence to Italy, where I might possibly join Kolya and Anna,[100]unless I should disturb theirtête-à-tête. I dread being alone....”
To M. Tchaikovsky.“Paris,February18th(March1st), 1884.“Modi, I can well imagine how difficult it must have been for you to lie to me as to the ‘grand succès’ ofMazeppain Petersburg. But you did well to tell a lie, for thetruthwould have been too great a blow, had I not been prepared for it by various indications. Only yesterday 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 M. Tchaikovsky.
“Paris,February18th(March1st), 1884.
“Modi, I can well imagine how difficult it must have been for you to lie to me as to the ‘grand succès’ ofMazeppain Petersburg. But you did well to tell a lie, for thetruthwould have been too great a blow, had I not been prepared for it by various indications. Only yesterday 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,February18th(March1st), 1884.“It is an old truth that no one can hurt so cruelly as a dear friend. Your reproach is very bitter. Do you not understand that I know better than anyone else howmuch 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 ofMazeppain Petersburg, of which your letter informed me, has wounded me deeply—very deeply. I am in a mood of darkest despair.”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Paris,February18th(March1st), 1884.
“It is an old truth that no one can hurt so cruelly as a dear friend. Your reproach is very bitter. Do you not understand that I know better than anyone else howmuch 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 ofMazeppain 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 Meck.“Paris,February27th(March10th), 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 thatTristan and Isolde, which is so intolerably wearisome on the stage, could ever charm the Parisians.... It would not surprise me that such excellent operas asLohengrin,Tannhäuser, and theFlying Dutchmanshould 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 Meck.
“Paris,February27th(March10th), 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 thatTristan and Isolde, which is so intolerably wearisome on the stage, could ever charm the Parisians.... It would not surprise me that such excellent operas asLohengrin,Tannhäuser, and theFlying Dutchmanshould 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 Meck.“Paris,February29th(March12th), 1884.“ ... Napravnik writes that the Emperor was much astonished at my absence from the first performance ofMazeppa, and that he showed great interest in my music; he has also commanded a performance ofEugene Oniegin, 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,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.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Paris,February29th(March12th), 1884.
“ ... Napravnik writes that the Emperor was much astonished at my absence from the first performance ofMazeppa, and that he showed great interest in my music; he has also commanded a performance ofEugene Oniegin, 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,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.”
The official command to appear before their Imperial Majesties was due to the fact that on February 23rd (March 6th), 1884, the order of St. Vladimir of the Fourth Class had been conferred upon Tchaikovsky. The presentation took place on March 7th (19th), 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,March10th(22nd), 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.”
To Anatol Tchaikovsky.
“Petersburg,March10th(22nd), 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.”
To N. F. von Meck.“Petersburg,March13th(25th), 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 performance ofMazeppain 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 expressing 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’sConfessions, which were to have come out recently in theRusskaya Myssl(‘Russian Thought’), but were withdrawn by order of the Censor? They have been privately circulated in manuscript, 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 wonderfully in theConfessions. Butenlightenmentcame 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 depression, and—at the least failure of courage—my desire fornon-existence, unless I had been able to believe in God and submit to His will?”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Petersburg,March13th(25th), 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 performance ofMazeppain 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 expressing 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’sConfessions, which were to have come out recently in theRusskaya Myssl(‘Russian Thought’), but were withdrawn by order of the Censor? They have been privately circulated in manuscript, 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 wonderfully in theConfessions. Butenlightenmentcame 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 depression, and—at the least failure of courage—my desire fornon-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, andonly 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 and April, 1884.
The following are a few entries from the later diaries:—
“April13th(25th), 1884.“ ... After tea I went to Leo’s,[101]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’sHérodiade... read some of Otto Jahn’sLife of Mozart.”
“April13th(25th), 1884.
“ ... After tea I went to Leo’s,[101]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’sHérodiade... read some of Otto Jahn’sLife of Mozart.”
On April 16th (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.