Chapter XVI: Part V: I (2)

“I have just been in the church attached to the monastery. There
were many people, both in the church and in the courtyard of the
building. I heard the blind ‘lyre singer.’ He calls himself ‘lyre
singer’ on account of the instrument with which he accompanies
himself, which, however, has nothing in common with the lyre of
antiquity. It is curious that in Little Russia every blind beggar
sings exactly the same tune with the same refrain. I have used part
of this refrain in my Pianoforte Concerto.

“At the present moment I am writing on the balcony. Before me is
the bunch of lilies of the valley from Simakov. I am never tired of
looking at these enchanting creations of nature.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _May_ 29_th_ (_June_ 10_th_), 1879.

“To-day I finished the first act of my opera (_The Maid of
Orleans_). It has grown into a somewhat bulky score. What a delight
to look through a newly finished score! To a musician a score means
something more than a collection of all kinds of notes and pauses.
It is a complete picture, in which the central figures stand out
clearly from the accessories and the background.

“To me every orchestral score is not merely a foretaste of oral
delight, but also a joy to look upon. For this reason I am
painfully particular about my scores, and cannot bear corrections,
erasures, or blots.”[68]

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _June_ 13_th_ (25_th_), 1879.

“Early this morning I had a telegram from Jurgenson, to say he had
won his case against Bachmetiev, the Director of the Imperial
Chapel. I think I told you that early last year my Liturgy (of St.
John Chrysostom) was confiscated from Jurgenson’s by order of
Bachmetiev.... Only those works which have been recognised by the
Chapel can be publicly sold or performed. This is the reason why,
until now, no Russian musicians have written Church music. After
the confiscation of my composition, Jurgenson brought an action for
damages against Bachmetiev, and has won his case.... This does not
matter so much for my Liturgy, as for the principle involved.

“Twenty-five years ago to-day my mother died. It was the first
profound sorrow of my life. Her death had a great influence on the
fate of myself and our entire family. She was carried off by
cholera, quite unexpectedly, in the prime of life. Every moment of
that terrible day is still as clear in my remembrances as though it
had happened yesterday.”

On June 20th Tchaikovsky wrote to N. F. von Meck that he had received three very agreeable letters from abroad. In one Colonne expressed his respect in the kindliest manner, and assured Tchaikovsky that, in spite of the cold reception of _The Tempest_, his name should figure again in the programmes of the Châtelet. A second communication came from the ‘cellist Fitzenhagen (professor at the Moscow Conservatoire), telling him of the impression he had created with the “Variations on a Rococo theme” at the Wiesbaden Festival. Liszt remarked on this occasion, “At last here is music again.” The third letter--from Hans von Bülow--announced the great success of Tchaikovsky’s first Pianoforte Concerto at the same festival. Von Bülow had already played it with even greater success in London.

Almost on the same day Tchaikovsky also heard the good news that his Liturgy had been performed in the University Church at Kiev.

VI

On August 7th Tchaikovsky finished the third act of _The Maid of Orleans_ and, suffering from physical and nervous exhaustion, left Kamenka for Simaki,[69] as Nadejda von Meck was occupying her house at Brailov.

_To N. F. von Meck._

“I am enchanted. I could not imagine more beautiful surroundings.
The garden in which I have just been walking with Pakhulsky has
surpassed all my expectations. The house is a splendid retreat! If
you only realised how much I am in need just now of all the
comforts which I get as your guest in this delightful spot!

“I intend to finish the orchestration of the last act of my opera
while I am here, and shall begin work to-morrow. I shall get this
heavy burden off my shoulders, and then I can draw breath and enjoy
the incomparable sensation of having completed a long work.”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“SIMAKI, _August_ 9_th_ (21_st_), 1879.

“I hasten to send you my first impressions of this place. A very,
very old house, a shady garden with ancient oaks and lime trees; it
is very secluded, but therein lies its charm. At the end of the
garden flows a stream. From the verandah there is a fine view over
the village and the forests. The absolute quiet and comfort of the
place exactly suit my taste and requirements. I have at my disposal
an old manservant called Leon, a cook whom I never see, and a
coachman with a phaeton and four horses. I could gladly dispense
with the last, since it necessitates my driving occasionally, while
in reality I prefer to walk. The proximity of Nadejda Filaretovna
troubles me somewhat, although it is really folly. I know my
seclusion will not be disturbed. I am so accustomed to regard her
as a kind of remote and invisible genius that the consciousness of
her mortal presence in my neighbourhood is rather disconcerting.
Yesterday I met Pakhulsky, who spent part of the evening with me.
But I told him plainly that I wanted to be left quite alone for a
few days.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“_August_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1879.

“Pakhulsky told me that next time he came he was to bring
Milochka[70] with him. I am very fond of Milochka; it is a pleasure
to look at the photograph of her charming face. I am sure she is a
dear, sweet, sympathetic child. I love children, and could only say
‘yes’ to such a proposal. But what I could not say to Pakhulsky I
can say to you.

“Forgive me, dear friend, and make fun of my mania if you like--but
I am not going to invite Milochka here, for this reason: my
relations towards you--as they exist at present--are my chief
happiness, and of the greatest importance to my well-being. I do
not want them altered by a hair’s breadth. The whole charm and
poetry of our friendship lies in your being so near and so dear to
me, while at the same time I do not know you at all in the ordinary
sense of the word. This condition of things must extend to your
nearest belongings. I will love Milochka as I have hitherto loved
you. If she appeared before me--_le charme serait rompu!_

“Every member of your family is dear to me--particularly
Milochka--yet for God’s sake let everything remain as it has been.
What could I say if she asked me why I never went to see her
mother? I should have to open our acquaintance with a _lie_. This
would be a grief to me, even though it were a trifling falsehood.
Pardon my frankness, dear and noble friend....

“If you have Beethoven’s Sonatas, be so kind as to send them to
me.”

_To Anatol Tchaikovsky._

“SIMAKI, _August_ 18_th_ (30_th_), 1879.

“Time slips away unobserved. Yesterday something very painful
happened. About four o’clock in the afternoon I was walking in the
woods, feeling sure I should not meet Nadejda Filaretovna, because
it was her dinner-hour. It chanced, however, that I went out a
little earlier, and she was dining somewhat later, so we ran
against each other quite by chance. It was an awkward predicament.
Although we were only face to face for a moment, I felt horribly
confused. However, I raised my hat politely. She seemed to lose her
head entirely and did not know what to do. She was in one carriage
with Milochka, and the whole family followed in two others. I
wandered into the forest in search of mushrooms, and when I
returned to the little table where tea was prepared for me, I found
my letters and newspapers awaiting me. It appears she sent a man on
horseback to look for me, so that I might get my post at tea-time.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“SIMAKI, _August_ 27_th_ (_September_ 8_th_), 1879.

“Now I can almost say _finished_! I have worked at _The Maid of
Orleans_ from the end of November (Florence) to the end of August
(Simaki), just nine months. It is remarkable that I began and
finished this opera as the guest of my dear friend.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“_August_ 31_st_ (_September_ 12_th_), 1879.

“Do you not like such grey days as to-day? I love them. The
beginning of autumn can only be compared to spring as regards
beauty. It seems to me September, with its tender, melancholy
colouring, has a special power to fill me with calm and happy
feelings. Around Simaki there are many delightful spots which I
like best to frequent at sunset, or on sunless days like to-day.
For instance, if you turn to the right, past the kitchen garden,
and take the lower path (parallel to the village) by the fen where
the reeds grow. I am very fond of that spot. But by day the sun
spoils the picturesque view of the village.

“At evening, too, or on a cloudy day, it is delightful to sit on
some high-lying spot, and look over the old willows, or poplars,
across to the village, with its modest church (what a charm is
given to every rural landscape by these churches), and far away to
the distant forests. I often spend an hour in this way....”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“_August_ 31_st_ (_September_ 12_th_), 1879.

“I have just received a telegram from Anatol: ‘Have just been
dismissed in consequence of an unpleasantness in my department.
Most anxious to speak to you.’ I am starting for Petersburg at
once. A great fear of the future possesses me. In spite of the many
delightful moments spent here, I have had a continual foreboding of
something unlucky, and always about Toly.”

VII

1879-1880

_To P. I. Jurgenson._

(_Early in September._)

“You will be very much astonished to hear of my being in
Petersburg. I was summoned by a telegram from my brother Anatol,
announcing that in consequence of some unpleasantness he had to
resign his position in the Government service.... I think the
matter can be so arranged that he can keep his place....

“I do not know how long I shall stay here. It depends upon the
progress of my brother’s affairs. O detested Petersburg!”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PETERSBURG, _September_ 13_th_ (25_th_), 1879.

“I received your letter yesterday, dear friend. How I envied you
when I read your account of the lovely autumn weather you were
enjoying! The weather is not bad here, but what is the use of it to
me?

“I often go to the opera, but I do not enjoy it much. The
impossibility of escaping from innumerable acquaintances bores me
dreadfully. No matter where I hide myself, there are always idle
people who poison my pleasure in the music by their kind
attentions. They will worry me with the usual commonplace
questions: ‘How are you?’ ‘What are you composing now?’ etc. But
the invitations are the most intolerable. It requires so much
courage to refuse them.

“In one of your letters you asked me to tell you the whole method
of procedure in order to get an opera accepted for performance. One
has to send the score and pianoforte arrangement, with a written
request for its performance, to the Direction of the Imperial Opera
House. Then, in order to be successful, one must set in motion the
whole machinery of solicitation and entreaty. This is just what I
do not understand. My first two operas were performed, thanks to
the assistance of the Grand Duke Constantine Nicholaevich who likes
my music. How things will go this time I cannot say. I shall
impress upon Jurgenson to do all that is necessary. Two days ago I
was talking to Napravnik (one of the worthiest members of the
musical world), who takes a lively interest in the fate of my
opera. He told me it could not be performed this season, but
advised me to send in the score as soon as possible.”

_To Anatol Tchaikovsky._

“MOSCOW, _September_ 20_th_ (_October_ 2_nd_), 1879.

“Forgive me for not having written before to-day. Yesterday it was
impossible.... Rubinstein and Jurgenson soon put in an appearance,
and compelled me to leave the tea, upon which I had just started,
and go out to breakfast with them. O Moscow! Scarcely has one set
foot in it before one must needs begin to drink! At five o’clock I
was invited to dinner at the Jurgensons’, where we began again. I
cannot tell you how strange and repugnant to me is this Moscow
atmosphere of swilling.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“GRANKINO, _September_ 25_th_ (_October_ 7_th_), 1879.

“I left Moscow on the 22nd. No sooner did the train begin to move,
and I saw the outskirts of the town, than the black curtain, which
had hung before my eyes during the whole of my time in the two
capitals, suddenly vanished. I was once more free and happy.

“Here I found both your letters. I cannot tell you how glad I was
to read your dear words. It was a surprise to hear our symphony was
at last published, for the distracted Jurgenson forgot to mention
this....

“I owe you everything: my life, the possibility of going forward to
distant goals, freedom, and that complete happiness which formerly
I believed to be unattainable.

“I read your letters with such a sense of eternal gratitude and
affection that I cannot put it into words....”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _October_ 5_th_ (17_th_), 1879.

“At the present moment--I do not know why--I am going through an
intense Italian craze. I feel so delighted, so happy, at the mere
thought that before long I, too, shall be in Italy. Naples,
Pompeii, Vesuvius ... enchanting, lovely!

“I found the proofs of the Suite here. In three days I corrected
and sent them back, so that I can now take a holiday--read, walk,
play, dream--to my heart’s desire. For how long? I do not know. At
any rate, I will not undertake any work during my first days in
Naples. Do you not think that in the land of _lazzarone_ one must
be lazy too?”

_To Anatol Tchaikovsky._

“KAMENKA, _October_ 7_th_ (19_th_) 1879.

“No news. I feel very well, only a little misanthropical now and
then. To-day there are visitors. When there are none I feel quite
at ease. We all sit and sew. I have hemmed and marked a
pocket-handkerchief.”[71]

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _October_ 9_th_ (21_st_), 1879.

“How can I thank you for the trouble you have taken about our
symphony? I am delighted Colonne will play it. At the same time
there is no doubt it will have no success whatever with the public.
Perhaps it might rouse a spark of sympathy in the hearts of ten or
twelve people--and that would be a great step in advance.... Only
one thing troubles me. Does Colonne really want to be paid for
doing the work? It would gratify me to know that his readiness to
perform the symphony was not based upon pecuniary considerations.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _October_ 12_th_ (24_th_), 1879.

“The last few days I have felt a secret dissatisfaction with
myself, which has degenerated into boredom. I realised that I
wanted work and began to occupy myself. The boredom immediately
vanished and I felt relieved. I have begun a pianoforte concerto
and intend to work at it without haste and over-fatigue.

“Have you read V. Soloviev’s philosophical articles? They are
admirably written; very popular in form, so that they do not
overstep the intelligence of the ordinary reader, yet very clever.
I do not know to what conclusions the writer will eventually come.
In the last number he proves very effectively the untenableness of
positivism, which denies metaphysics, yet cannot get along without
philosophy. Soloviev speaks in a very striking way of the delusion
of the materialists who, because they deny metaphysics, believe
they are only dealing with what actually exists, that is, with the
material; whereas the material has no objective existence, and is
only a phenomenon, the result of the activity of our sense and
intellect. I express his ideas very indifferently, but I advise you
to read this book for yourself.

“Yesterday I heard from Anatol about the performance of _Vakoula
the Smith_, which took place the previous week. The theatre was
full, but the public cool, just as on former occasions. Anatol
attributes this to the indifferent performance. But I can see with
startling clearness that this attitude of reserve is the outcome of
my own stupid mistakes. I am glad to know that _The Maid of
Orleans_ is free from the faults of my earlier pseudo-opera style,
in which I wearied my listeners with a superfluity of details, and
made my harmony too complicated, so that there was no moderation in
my orchestral effects. Besides which, I gave the audience no
repose. I set too many heavy dishes before them. Opera style should
be broad, simple, and decorative. _Vakoula_ is not in true opera
style, but is far more like symphonic or chamber music. It is only
surprising that it has not proved a complete failure. It is
possible that it may find favour with the public in course of time.
I place it in the front rank of my works, although I see all its
defects. It was a labour of love, an enjoyment, like _Oniegin_, the
Fourth Symphony, and the Second Quartet.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“KAMENKA, _October_ 15_th_ (27_th_), 1879.

“Only a month--and I shall be at Naples! I look forward to this as
a child to his birthday, and the presents it will bring. Meanwhile
things are going well with me. My latest musical creation begins to
grow and display more characteristic features. I work with greater
pleasure and try to curb my habitual haste, which has often been
injurious to my work.”

On October 21st Nicholas Rubinstein played Tchaikovsky’s Pianoforte Sonata at a concert of the Musical Society in Moscow. The success was so great that the famous pianist repeated it at his own concert in the course of the same season.

On November 11th the composer’s First Suite had a decided success, judging by the newspapers. The short number which Tchaikovsky once thought of cutting out of the work was encored.

_To Anatol Tchaikovsky._

“BERLIN, _November_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1879.

“MY DEAR ANATOL,--I have had an ideal journey. I arrived in Berlin
early this morning. After breakfast I went to see Kotek. The good
man seemed wild with delight at seeing me again, and even I was
glad. But at the end of two hours of musical tittle-tattle I was
tired, and thankful he had to attend a rehearsal. Strange! The
longer I live, the less I care for the society of my
fellow-creatures. There is no doubt that I am fond of Kotek, but
his chatter wearies me more than the severest physical exertion.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _November_ 18_th_ (30_th_), 1879.

“I know the Variations by Rimsky-Korsakov & Co.[72] very well. The
work is original in its way and shows some remarkable talent for
harmony in its authors. At the same time I do not care for it. It
is too heavy and spun-out for a joke, and the everlasting
repetition of the theme is--clumsy. As a work of art it is a mere
nonentity. It is not surprising that a few clever men should have
amused themselves by inventing all kinds of variations upon a
commonplace theme; the surprising thing is their having published
them. Only amateurs can suppose that every piquant harmony is
worthy to be given to the public. Liszt, the old Jesuit, speaks in
terms of exaggerated praise of every work which is submitted to his
inspection. He is at heart a good man, one of the very few great
artists who have never known envy (Wagner and in some measure Anton
Rubinstein owe their success to him; he also did much for Berlioz);
but he is too much of a Jesuit to be frank and sincere.”

_To P. Jurgenson._

“PARIS, _November_ 19_th_ (_December_ 1_st_), 1879.

“DEAR FRIEND,--What happiness to get right away from one’s own
country! Not until I had passed the frontiers, did I breathe freely
and feel at ease. On the journey I came across Joseph Wieniawsky,
who was in the same corridor train. I immediately told him I was
not alone, but travelling with a lady, upon which he winked at me
slyly, as much as to say, ‘Of course, we know, shocking dog!’

“At present I want to work slowly at my Concerto; later I mean to
look through my old works, especially the Second Symphony, which I
intend to revise thoroughly.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _November_ 21_st_ (_December_ 3_rd_), 1879.

“To-day, being a Saint’s Day, Alexis went to church, and told me
the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicholaevich, with all his suite in full
uniform, had attended the service. I could not account for this
until I took up the _Gaulois_ at breakfast, and read of an attempt
made in Moscow on the Tsar’s life.... The Emperor escaped unharmed.

“I do not believe, dear friend, that we are in immediate danger of
a war with Prussia. Such a war, although inevitable, is improbable
during the lives of the present emperors. How can it be possible to
think of war, when such horrors are taking place in our midst?... I
think the Tsar would do well to assemble representatives throughout
all Russia, and take counsel with them how to prevent the
recurrence of such terrible actions on the part of mad
revolutionaries. So long as all of us--the Russian citizens--are
not called to take part in the government of the country, there is
no hope of a better future.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _November_ 26_th_ (_December_ 8_th_), 1879.

“I am not altogether at one with you as regards Cui. I do not
recognise in him any great creative power, although his music has a
certain elegance, agreeable harmonies, and shows good taste, in
which he is distinguished from the other members of ‘the band,’
especially Moussorgsky. By nature Cui is more drawn towards light
and piquantly rhythmic French music; but the demands of ‘the band’
which he has joined compel him to do violence to his natural gifts
and to follow those paths of would-be original harmony which do not
suit him. Cui is now forty-four years of age and has only composed
two operas and two or three dozen songs. He was engaged for ten
years upon his opera _Ratcliff_. It is evident that the work was
composed piecemeal, hence the lack of any unity of style.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _November_ 27_th_ (_December_ 9_th_), 1879.

“Now I will answer your question. My _Voyevode_ is undoubtedly a
very poor opera. I do not speak of the music only, but of all that
goes to the making of a good opera. The subject is lacking in
dramatic interest and movement, and the work was written hastily
and carelessly. I wrote music to the words without troubling to
consider the difference between operatic and symphonic style. In
composing an opera the stage should be the musician’s first
thought, he must not abuse the confidence of the theatre-goer who
comes _to see_ as well as _to hear_. Finally, the style of music
written for the stage should be the same as the decorative style in
painting, clear, simple, and highly coloured. A picture by
Meissonier would lose half its charm if exhibited on the stage; and
subtle, delicately harmonised music would be equally inappropriate,
since the public demands sharply defined melodies on a background
of subdued harmony. In my _Voyevode_ I have been chiefly concerned
with filigree work, and have forgotten the requirements of the
stage.

“The stage often paralyses a composer’s inspiration, that is why
symphonic and chamber music are so far superior to opera. A
symphony or sonata imposes no limitations, but in opera, the first
necessity is to speak the musical language of the great public....
The final defect of _The Voyevode_ lies in the heaviness of its
orchestration, which overpowers the soloists. These are all the
faults of inexperience; we must leave a whole series of failures
behind us before we can attain to perfection. This is the reason
why I am not ashamed of my first opera. It has taught me useful
lessons. And you see, dear friend, how strenuously I have
endeavoured to correct my errors. Even _Undine_ (the opera I
burnt), _The Oprichnik_, and _Vakoula_ are not what they should be.
I find this branch of art very difficult! I think _The Maid of
Orleans_ at last fulfils every requirement, but perhaps I deceive
myself. If it is so, if it turns out that I have failed to grasp
the true opera style, even in this work, then I shall be convinced
of the justice of the opinion that I am by nature only a symphonic
composer and should not attempt dramatic music. In that case, I
shall abandon all attempts at opera.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _December_ 1879.

“I have read the proclamation you mention. It is impossible to
conceive anything more astounding and cynical. How will such
revolutionary proceedings forward the reforms with which, sooner or
later, the Tsar will crown his reign? That which the Socialists are
doing in the name of Russia is foolish and insolent. But equally
false is their pretence of readiness to shake hands with all
parties and to leave the Emperor in peace as soon as he summons a
Parliament. This is not what they really aim at, for they mean to
go further--to a socialist-republic, or to anarchy. But no one will
swallow this bait. Even were a constitution granted to Russia in
the remote future, the first act of the _Zemstvo_ should be
extermination of this band of murderers who hope to become the
leaders of the country.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“PARIS, _December_ 3_rd_ (15_th_), 1879.

“The sketch of my Concerto is finished and I am very pleased with
it, especially with the Andante. Now I shall take in hand the
revision of my Second Symphony, of which only the last movement can
be left intact. I published this work through Bessel in 1872, as a
return for the trouble he took over the performance of _The
Oprichnik_.... For seven years he has led me a dance over the
engraving of the score--always putting me off with the assurance
that it would soon be ready. I was sometimes furious with him, but
his lack of conscience has proved itself a blessing in disguise!...
If I succeed in working steadily in Rome, I shall make a good work
out of my immature, mediocre symphony.”

VIII

After spending a few days in Turin, Tchaikovsky reached Rome on December 8th (20th), 1879. From thence he wrote, on the 12th (24th), to Frau von Meck:--

“Yesterday we made a pilgrimage to S. Pietro in Montorio. Probably
you know the place, therefore I need not describe the beauty of the
view from the terrace below the church. To-day I visited San
Giovanni in Laterano and carried away some profound artistic
impressions. I also went to Scala Santa. High Mass was being
celebrated in the church. The choir sang a Mass _a capella_ and
also with the organ. Quite modern music, utterly unsuitable in
church, but beautifully sung. What voices there are in Italy! The
tenor gave a solo, in the style of a wretched operatic aria, in
such a magnificent voice that I was quite carried away. But the
Mass itself lacks that solemn, poetical atmosphere with which our
liturgy is surrounded.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _December_ 13_th_ (25_th_), 1879.

“It is Christmas here to-day. We went to Mass at St. Peter’s. What
a colossal edifice--this cathedral!”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _December_ 15_th_ (27_th_), 1879.

“Yesterday we went up Monte Testaccio, with its lovely view of Rome
and the Campagna. From there we visited S. Paolo Fuori le Mura, a
basilica of huge proportions and vast wealth. To-day I am going for
the first time to ‘do’ the Forum thoroughly. This has a three-fold
interest for me because I am just reading Ampère’s _Histoire
romaine à Rome_, in which all that has taken place in this building
is minutely described.

“I have a very good piano now. I got a few volumes of Bach’s works
from Ricordi, and play a number of them, alone, or four-handed,
with my brother Modeste. But work will not come back to me. Rome
and Roman life are too characteristic, too exciting and full of
variety, to permit of my sticking to my writing-table. However, I
hope the power of work will gradually return. Yesterday I heard a
charming popular song, of which I shall certainly make use some
future day.”

_To P. I. Jurgenson._

“ROME, _December_ 19_th_ (31_st_), 1879.

“DEAR FRIEND,-- ... Nicholas Rubinstein’s opinion that my Suite is
so difficult that it is impossible, has surprised and annoyed me
very much. Either Rubinstein is mistaken, or I must give up
composing; one or the other. Why, it is my chief anxiety to write
more easily and simply as time goes on, and the more I try--the
worse I succeed! It is dreadful!

“I asked Taneiev to write and tell me what actually constituted
these terrible difficulties. I feel a little hurt that none of my
friends telegraphed to me after the performance. I am forgotten.
The one interest which binds me to life is centred in my
compositions. Every first performance marks an epoch for me. Can no
one realise that it would have been a joy to receive a few words of
appreciation, by which I should have known that my new work had
been performed and had given pleasure to my friends?

“I do not understand what you say about the ‘Marche Miniature.’ We
never cut it out. The March was to be kept, but as it was not
suitable as No. 5 it was to be published at the end of the
Suite.... For God’s sake answer my letters quicker. Your
communication has upset my nerves and I feel as ill as a dog.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

ROME, _December_ 22_nd_ (_January_ 3_rd_, 1880), 1879.

“To-day I went to the Capitol with Modeste. We spent an hour and a
half in the Hall of the Emperors. The busts are highly
characteristic! What a revolting, sensual, animal face Nero has!
How sympathetic is Marcus Aurelius! How fine the old Agrippina! How
repulsive Caracalla! Some of these countenances in no way bear out
one’s idea of the originals. For instance, Julius Cæsar altogether
lacks power and greatness; he looks like a Russian Councillor of
State. And Trajan? Who could guess from his narrow forehead,
prominent chin, and commonplace expression, that the original of
the portrait was a great man?...”

A few days later, Tchaikovsky recounted to Nadejda von Meck his impressions of the treasures of the Vatican:--

“The frescoes of Michel Angelo now appear less incomprehensible to
me, although I do not share Modeste’s enthusiasm for them. His
athletic, muscular figures, and the gloomy vastness of his
pictures, are gradually becoming more intelligible. His art now
interests and overcomes me, but it does not delight me, or touch my
heart. Raphael is still my favourite--the Mozart of painters.
Guercino’s pictures please me very much, some of his Madonnas are
so angelically beautiful, they fill me with silent ecstasy.
However, I must confess that I am not gifted by nature with a fine
appreciation of the plastic arts, for very few pictures make an
impression upon me.... To study all the art treasures of Rome
conscientiously would need a whole lifetime. To-day I discovered
once more how important it is to look long and carefully at a
picture. I sat before Raphael’s ‘Annunciation,’ and at first I did
not see much in the picture, but the longer I looked the more
profoundly was I penetrated with its beauty as a whole, and the
wonder of its details. Alas! I had only just begun to really enjoy
the work, when Modeste came to tell me it was three o’clock and
time to go on to the Sistine Chapel.... I do not think I could live
long in Rome. There are too many interests; it leaves no time for
reflection, no time to deepen one’s own nature. I should prefer
Florence as a permanent place of residence; it is quieter, more
peaceful. Rome is richer and grander; Florence more sympathetic.

“I agree with Goethe’s characteristic opinion of Rome.... ‘It would
be a fine thing to spend a few centuries there in Pythagorean
silence.’”

_S.I. Taneiev to Tchaikovsky._

“MOSCOW.

“N. Rubinstein has pointed out to me all those parts in the score
of your Suite which he considers awkward.

“The difficulties are chiefly centred in the wind instruments,
especially in the wood-wind. They are as follows:--

“(1) Too few pauses; the wood-wind have to play for too long at a
time without opportunities for breathing. In those places where you
have doubled the strings (as in the Fugue) it does not matter so
much, they can make a slight break without its being observable.
But it is very different when they are playing alone. For instance,
in the newly added movement there is a part for three flutes which
have to play triplets for twenty-two bars, without a break.

“(2) Difficult passages: these occur very often in the wood-wind
and demand _virtuosi_ to execute them properly. In the Andante the
passages leading to the second theme are extremely difficult (where
oboe and clarinet, and the second time flute and clarinet, have
triplets of semi-quavers). This part went very badly at the
rehearsals, and even at the concert, although the musicians had
practised their parts at home. It offers such difficulties that it
is impossible to render it with the expression marks indicated, for
the musicians have enough to do to get their right note (the double
flat for clarinet is particularly awkward).

“(3) The compass of all the wood-wind instruments is too extended.
The first bassoon usually plays in the tenor register, while the
second takes the lower notes. Not only the musicians, but also
their instruments, have got accustomed to this; the lower notes of
the first bassoon are not quite in tune; the same thing applies to
the upper notes of the second bassoon. But your Suite opens with a
unison passage for both fagotti, which employs almost the entire
range of these instruments: from

to

In the march the oboes have the following notes:--

which Z. played at the first rehearsal as:--

When Rubinstein asked him why he did not play the notes as they
were written, he replied that he could do so, but it would be very
bad for his lips, because they lay too high. The French oboe
players, he continued, could bring out these high notes better,
because they had different and finer mouthpieces; but with these
mouthpieces the middle and lower notes suffered.

“(4) Difficult rhythms which make the execution irregular. The
absence, too, of what the Germans call “Anhaltspunkt”
(punctuation)--the absence of notes on the strong beats of the bar.
Take this rhythm in the Scherzo for instance:--

the last notes come on the second crotchet, and the pause on the
third beat. In consequence, it is very difficult to play these
notes equally, they always sound a little one on the top of the
other. The same with the following passage:--

Altogether the Scherzo requires enormous virtuosity, which most
members of the orchestra do not possess.

“Apparently some passages do not sound as you thought they would.
At the beginning of the Scherzo (where the wood-wind enters) there
is a modulation to B♭ major through the dominant chord on F.

The superfluity of chromatic harmonies, as well as the difficulty
of executing clearly all that is written for the wind, causes these
passages to sound unintelligible and to have the effect of a series
of wrong notes....”

_To S. I. Taneiev._

“ROME, _January_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1880.

“Nicholas Rubinstein’s explanation is not at all satisfactory. From
all he says, I can plainly see that he was out of temper and
visited it upon the Suite. No one will induce me to believe this
passage

is difficult to play on the oboe or clarinet, or that the flutes
cannot play twenty-two bars of triplets in a rapid tempo. They
could easily manage to play such a passage for 220 bars. It would
be very innocent to imagine that this must be done in one breath.
They can breathe every time. I play the flute a little myself and
am certain of it. Difficulty is a relative matter: for a beginner
it would not only be difficult, but impossible, but for an
averagely good orchestral player it is not hard. I do not lay
myself out to write easy things; I know my instrumentation is
almost always rather difficult. But you must admit that compared
with _Francesca_, or the Fourth Symphony, the Suite is child’s
play. Altogether Rubinstein’s criticisms are such that--were they
accurate--I should have to lay down my pen for ever. What? For ten
years I have taught instrumentation at the Conservatoire (not
remarkably well perhaps, but without compromising myself), and two
years later remarks are made to me which could only be addressed to
a very backward pupil! One of two things: either I never understood
anything about the orchestra, or this criticism of my Suite is on a
par with N. R.’s remarks upon my Pianoforte Concerto in 1875: that
it was impracticable. What was impossible in 1875 was proved quite
possible in 1878.

“I explain the whole affair thus: the oboist Herr Z. was in a bad
temper--which not infrequently happens with him--and this infected
Rubinstein. I like the idea that the high notes are ruination to
Herr Z.’s lips!!! It is a thousand pities these precious lips, from
which Frau Z. has stolen so many kisses, should be spoilt for ever
by the E in alt. But this will not hinder me from injuring these
sacred lips by writing high notes--notes moreover that every oboist
can easily play, even without a French mouthpiece!”

IX

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _January_ 2_nd_ (14_th_), 1880.

“When I look back upon the year that has flown, I feel I must sing
a hymn of thanksgiving to fate which has brought me so many
beautiful days in Russia and abroad. I can say that throughout the
whole year I have led a calm and cheerful life, and have been
happy, so far as happiness is possible.”

_To P. I. Jurgenson._

“ROME, _January_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1880.

“My health is bad, and my mental condition not very good. I have
had sad news from Petersburg: my sister is ill and also her
daughter. Yesterday I heard of my father’s death. He was
eighty-five, so this news did not altogether take me by surprise.
But he was such a wonderful, angelic old soul. I loved him so much,
it is a bitter grief to feel I shall never see him again.”

On hearing this news, Tchaikovsky burst into tears. Afterwards he became quiet and resigned. But the peaceful end of this venerable old man could not make a great gap in the busy life of his son, to whom, notwithstanding, he had been very dear.

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _January_ 12_th_ (24_th_), 1880.

“This morning I received an amiable letter from Colonne, telling me
my symphony[73] would be given to-morrow at the Châtelet. This has
vexed me. If he had written a day earlier, I might have reached
Paris in time. But Colonne is not to blame because, in order to
preserve my incognito, I told him I could not be present at the
performance of my symphony, on account of my health.

“How am I to thank you for this kindness, dear friend? I know the
symphony will not have any success, but it will interest many
people, and this is very important for the propaganda of my works.”

Although Colonne sent a telegram of congratulation immediately after the concert, the letter which followed announced, in the politest manner, the partial failure of the symphony. _La Gazette Musicale_ says the first and last movements were received with “icy coldness,” and the public only showed enthusiasm for the Scherzo, and portions of the Andante.

Almost simultaneously with the performance of the Fourth Symphony in Paris, Tchaikovsky’s Quartet No. 3, Op. 30, and the Serenade for violin and pianoforte were given by the Société de S. Cécile. All the newspapers were unanimously agreed as to the success of these works.

From this time Tchaikovsky’s works began to make their way abroad. From New York, Leopold Damrosch sent him tidings of the great success of his First Suite; while Jurgenson wrote to tell him of the triumph of his Pianoforte Concerto in B♭ minor, which had been played twice by Bülow and once by Friedenthal in Berlin, by Breitner in Buda-Pesth, and by Rummel in New York.

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _January_ 16_th_ (28_th_), 1880.

“What a superb work is Michel Angelo’s ‘Moses’! It is indeed
conceived and executed by a genius of the highest order. It is said
the work has some defects. This reminds me of old Fétis, who was
always on the look-out for errors in Beethoven’s works, and once
boasted in triumph of having discovered in the _Eroica_ symphony an
inversion which was not in good taste.

“Do you not think Beethoven and Michel Angelo are allied by
nature?”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“_February_ 5_th_ (17_th_), 1880.

“Just now we are at the very height of the Carnival. At first, as I
have told you, this wild folly did not suit me at all, but now I am
growing used to it. Of course the character of the festival here is
conditioned by climate and custom. Probably if a Roman was set down
among us in our Carnival week, the crowd of tipsy people swinging
and toboganning would seem to him even more barbarous!

“I am working at the sketch of an Italian Fantasia based upon
folksongs. Thanks to the charming themes, some of which I have
taken from collections and some of which I have heard in the
streets, this work will be effective.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“_February_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1880.

“Yesterday we made the most of glorious weather and went to Tivoli.
It is the loveliest spot I ever beheld. As soon as we arrived we
went to lunch at the Albergo della Sybilla. Our table was near the
edge of a ravine, where a waterfall splashed in the depths below;
on all sides the steep banks and rocks were covered with pines and
olive trees. The sun was hot as in June. After breakfast we took a
long walk and visited the celebrated Villa d’Este, where Liszt
spends three months every year. It is magnificent, and from the
park there is a fine view over the Campagna.

“To-day we went to the gallery of the Palazzo Borghese, in which
there are some masterpieces. I was most impressed by Correggio’s
superb picture ‘Danae.’[74]

“Dear friend, leading such a life, amid all these beautiful
impressions of nature and art, ought not a man to be happy? And yet
a worm continually gnaws in secret at my heart. I sleep badly, and
do not feel that courage and freshness which I might expect under
the present conditions. Only for a moment can I conquer my mental
depression. My God! What an incomprehensible and complicated
machine the human organism is! We shall never solve the various
phenomena of our spiritual and material existence. And how can we
draw the line between the intellectual and physiological phenomena
of our life? At times it seems to me as though I suffered from a
mysterious, but purely physical, malady which influences my mental
phases. Lately I have thought my heart was out of order; but then I
remembered that last summer the doctor who examined it declared my
heart to be absolutely sound. So I must lay the blame on my
nerves--but what are nerves? Why, on one and the same day, without
any apparent reason, do they act quite normally for a time, and
then lose their elasticity and energy, and leave one incapable of
work and insensible to artistic impressions? These are riddles.

“There is a lovely bunch of violets in front of me. There are
quantities here. Spring is coming in to her own.”

_To P. I. Jurgenson._

“ROME, _February_ 5_th_ (17_th_), 1880.

“Good Lord, what a stupid idea to go and print that score!!![75] It
is not profitable, is no use to anyone, nor satisfactory in any
respect--simply absurd. The moral is: when you want to prepare a
little surprise for me, ask my advice first. I assure you, in spite
of my well-known _naïveté_, I have more sound common sense than
many clever, worthy, but too enthusiastic people--such as the
person for example who suggested you should engrave this score. All
the same, my unfavourable view does not prevent my being
grateful--even in this case--for your friendship, which I value
tremendously.

“Is it not time to lay the score of _The Maid of Orleans_ before
the Opera Direction? I think it is just the right moment....”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _February_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1880.

“The more I look at Michel Angelo’s works the more wonderful they
seem to me. Just now I was contemplating his ‘Moses.’ The church
was empty, and there was nothing to disturb my meditations. I
assure you I was filled with terror. You will remember that Moses
is standing with his head slightly turned towards the sacrifice
which is to be offered to Baal. His expression is angry and
menacing; his figure majestic and commanding. One feels he has only
to speak a word, for erring mortals to fall on their knees before
him. It is impossible to conceive anything more perfect than this
great statue. With this genius the form expresses his entire
thought, there is nothing forced, no pose, such as we see, for
instance, in Bernini’s statues, of which Rome unfortunately
possesses so many examples.

“I am so pleased with a book that has come into my hands, I cannot
put it down. It is nothing less than an excellent rendering of
Tacitus into French. He is a great artist.”

About this time the performance of Tchaikovsky’s opera _The Oprichnik_ was forbidden, because the subject was considered too revolutionary in that moment of political agitation. “Je n’ai qu’à m’en féliciter,” wrote the composer on receiving the news, “for I am glad of any hindrance to the performance of this ill-starred opera.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _February_ 16_th_ (28_th_), 1880.

“I chose the title of Divertimento for the second movement of my
Suite, because it was the first which occurred to me. I wrote the
movement without attaching any great importance to it, and only
interpolated it in the Suite to avoid rhythmical monotony. I wrote
it actually at one sitting, and spent much less time upon it than
upon any other movement. As it turns out, this has not hindered it
from giving more pleasure than all the rest. You are not the only
one who thinks so. It proves for the thousandth time that an author
never judges his own works with justice.

“I am most grateful to you for calling Colonne’s attention to my
new works, but I must tell you frankly: it would be very
disagreeable to me if you were again to repay him in a material
form for his attention.... The first time it was very painful that
you should have spent a considerable sum of money, although I was
glad to feel that, thanks to your devoted friendship, _our_
symphony should be made known to the Paris public. I was grateful
for this new proof of your sympathy. But now it would be painful
and disgraceful to me to know that Colonne could only see the worth
of my compositions by the flashlight of gold. All the same, I am
grateful for your recommendation.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ROME, _February_ 18_th_ (_March_ 1_st_), 1880.

“The Concerto[76] of Brahms does not please me better than any
other of his works. He is certainly a great musician, even a
Master, but, in his case, his mastery overwhelms his inspiration.
So many preparations and circumlocutions for something which ought
to come and charm us at once--and nothing does come, but boredom.
His music is not warmed by any genuine emotion. It lacks poetry,
but makes great pretensions to profundity. These depths contain
nothing: they are void. Take the opening of the Concerto, for
instance. It is an introduction, a preparation for something fine;
an admirable pedestal for a statue; but the statue is lacking, we
only get a second pedestal piled upon the first. I do not know
whether I have properly expressed the thoughts, or rather feelings,
which Brahms’s music awakens in me. I mean to say that he never
expresses anything, or, when he does, he fails to express it fully.
His music is made up of fragments of some indefinable _something_,
skilfully welded together. The design lacks definite contour,
colour, life.

“But I must simply confess that, independent of any definite
accusation, Brahms, as a musical personality, is antipathetic to
me. I cannot abide him. Whatever he does--I remain unmoved and
cold. It is a purely instinctive feeling.”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“ROME, _February_ 26_th_ (_March_ 9_th_), 1880.

“To-day I went on foot to the Vatican and sat a long while in the
Sistine Chapel. Here a miracle was worked. I felt--almost for the
first time in my life--an artistic ecstasy for painting. What it
means to become gradually accustomed to the painter’s art! I
remember the time when all this seemed to me absurd and
meaningless....”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“BERLIN, _March_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1880.

“In Paris I went to the ‘Comédie Francaise,’ and fell in love with
Racine or Corneille (which of them wrote _Polyeucte_?). The beauty
and strength of these verses and, still more, the lofty artistic
truth! At the first glance this tragedy seems so unreal and
impossible. The last act, however, in which Felix,
conscience-stricken and illumined by Christ, suddenly becomes a
Christian, touched me profoundly....

“After reading Toly’s letter I went to Bilse’s concert. The large,
luxuriously decorated hall, with its smell of indifferent cigars
and food, its stocking-knitting ladies and beer-drinking men, made
a curious impression upon me. After Italy, where we were constantly
out in the beautiful, pure air, it was quite repugnant. But the
orchestra was excellent, the acoustic splendid, and the programme
good. I heard Schumann’s ‘Genoveva,’ the ‘Mignon’ overture, and a
very sparkling _pot-pourri_, and I was very pleased with it all.
How glad I shall be to hear the _Flying Dutchman_ to-day!”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“BERLIN, _March_ 5_th_ (17_th_), 1880.

“To-day I went to the Aquarium, where I went into ecstasies over
the chimpanzee. He lives in intimate friendship with a dog. It is
delightful to see the two play together, and the chimpanzee laughs
in the drollest way when he takes refuge in some place where the
dog cannot get at him!

“I notice that I am making great progress in my appreciation of
painting. I take the greatest delight in many things, especially in
the Flemish school. Teniers, Wouvermans, and Ruysdael please me far
more than the renowned Rubens, who represents even Christ as
healthily robust, with unnaturally pink cheeks. One fact makes me
begin to see myself as _a great_ connoisseur. I recognise
Correggio’s brush before I see his name in the catalogue! But then
Correggio has his own manner, and all his male figures and heads
resemble the Christ in the Vatican, and his women the Danae in the
Borghese Palace.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ST. PETERSBURG, _March_ 10_th_ (22_nd_), 1880.

“Your benevolence to poor, dying Henry Wieniawsky touches me
deeply.[77] ... I pity him greatly. In him we shall lose an
incomparable violinist and a gifted composer. In this respect I
think Wieniawsky very talented ... the beautiful _Légende_ and
parts of the A minor Concerto show a true creative gift.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“ST. PETERSBURG, _March_ 20_th_ (_April_ 1_st_), 1880.

“Yesterday I suffered a good deal. The Grand Duke Constantine
Nicholaevich has a son Constantine. This young man of
two-and-twenty is passionately fond of music, and is very partial
to mine. He expressed a wish to become more closely acquainted with
me, and asked a relative of mine, the wife of Admiral Butakov, to
arrange an evening party at which we might meet.

“As he knows my misanthropical habits, this evening was to be of an
informal nature, without dress coats and white ties. It was
impossible to escape. The young man is very pleasant and has
musical ability. We talked music from 9 p.m. until 2 a.m. He
composes very nicely, but unfortunately has no time to devote
himself to it seriously.”