Chapter XXII: Part VI: I (2)

“ ... Annie, first of all I am going to flatter you a little and
then ask you to do something for me. After much searching and
trouble I have rented a very pretty house here in Maidanovo.... I
am now furnishing this house ... now ... some good people ... have
promised ... if I am not mistaken ... that is, how shall I express
myself?... to sew ... woollen _portières_ ... or curtains ... that
is, I would like to know ... perhaps at once ... if you would ...
I, in a word ... oh! how ashamed I am ... write please, how what
... now, I hope, I have made myself understood....”[108]

_To A. S. Arensky._

“MAIDANOVO, _September_ 25_th_ (_October_ 7_th_), 1885.

“DEAR ANTON STEPANOVICH,--Pardon me if I force my advice upon you.
I have heard that 5/4 time appears twice in your new Suite. It
seems to me that the mania for 5/4 time threatens to become a habit
with you. I like it well enough if it is indispensable to the
musical idea, that is to say if the time signature and rhythmic
accent respectively form no hindrance. For example, Glinka, in the
chorus of the fourth act of _A Life for the Tsar_, clearly could
not have written in anything else but 5/4 time: here we find an
actual 5/4 rhythm that is a continual and uniform change from 2/4
to 3/4:

“It would be curious, and certainly ‘an effort to be original,’ to
write a piece with a simple rhythm of 2/4 or 3/4 time in 5/4 time.
You will agree with me that it would have been very stupid of
Glinka to have written his music thus:

“It would be the same to the ear whether 2/4 or 3/4: it would not
be a mathematical blunder, but a very clumsy musical one.

“You have made just such a mistake in your otherwise beautiful
_Basso ostinato_. I made the discovery yesterday that in this
instance 5/4 time was not at all necessary. You must own that a
series of three bars of 5/4 is mathematically equal to a similar
series of 3/4 time;[109] in music, on the contrary, the difference
between them is quite as sharp as between 3/4 and 6/8.

“In my opinion, your _Basso ostinato_ should be written in 3/4 or
6/4 time, but not in 5/4.

“I cannot imagine a more distinct five-bar rhythm in 3/4 time. What
do you think?”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _September_ 27_th_ (_October_ 9_th_), 1885.

“The first act of _The Enchantress_ lies finished before me, and I
am growing more and more enthusiastic over the task in prospect.

“Dear friend, I like your arrogant views upon my opera. You are
quite right to regard this insincere form of art with suspicion.
But for a composer opera has some irresistible attraction; it alone
offers him the means of getting into touch with the great public.
My _Manfred_ will be played once or twice, and then disappear; with
the exception of a few people who attend symphony concerts, no one
will hear it. Opera, on the contrary--and opera alone--brings us
nearer to our fellows, inoculates the public with our music, and
makes it the possession, not only of a small circle, but--under
favourable circumstances--of the whole nation. I do not think this
tendency is to be condemned; that is to say, Schumann, when he
wrote _Genoveva_, and Beethoven, when he wrote _Fidelio_, were not
actuated by ambition, but by a natural desire to increase the
circle of their hearers and to penetrate as far as possible into
the heart of humanity. Therefore we must not only pursue what is
merely effective, but choose subjects of artistic worth which are
both interesting and touching.”

_To M. Tchaikovsky._

“MAIDANOVO, _October_ 1_st_ (13_th_), 1885.

“What a wretch Zola is!! A few weeks ago I accidentally took up his
_Germinal_, began to read it, got interested, and only finished it
late at night. I was so upset that I had palpitations, and sleep
was impossible. Next day I was quite ill, and now I can only think
of the novel as of some fearful nightmare....”

_To P. Jurgenson._

“MAIDANOVO, _October_ 9_th_ (21_st_), 1885.

“DEAR FRIEND,--Hubert tells me you do not think it possible to
publish _Manfred_ this season. Is this true? The question is this,
I cannot allow two opportunities to slip: (1) Bülow is conducting
in Petersburg; (2) Erdmannsdörfer is conducting in Moscow--perhaps
his last season--and, in spite of all, he is one of the few people
on whom I can depend. On the other hand, I am not in a position to
spend an incredible amount of trouble on a work which I regard as
one of my very best, and then wait till it is played _some time_.
As far as I am concerned, it is all the same to me whether it is
played from written or printed notes--so long as it is done. I
believe it might be ready by February. But if you think that this
is quite impossible, then I propose that you decline _Manfred_
altogether (this will not offend me at all, for I know you cannot
do the impossible for the sake of my whims). Only understand that I
cannot on any account wait till next season, and cost what it may,
I will see _Manfred_ produced. Do not take my caprice (if it is a
caprice) amiss, and answer me at once.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _October_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1885.

“ ... As regards the lofty significance of symphony and chamber
music in comparison with opera, let me only add that to refrain
from writing operas is the work of a hero, and we have one such
hero in our time--Brahms. Cui has justly remarked in one of his
recent articles that Brahms, both as man and artist, has only
followed the highest ideals--those which were worthy of respect and
admiration. Unfortunately his creative gift is poor, and does not
correspond to his great aspirations. Nevertheless he is a hero.
This heroism does not exist in me, for the stage with all its
glitter attracts me irresistibly.”

VII

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _November_ 19_th_ (_December_ 1_st_), 1885.

“ ... I spent a week in Moscow, and was present at three concerts.
The first, given by Siloti, who has just returned from abroad to
serve his time in the army. He has made great progress. Then the
Musical Society gave a concert and quartet-matinée, at which the
celebrated Paris violinist, Marsick, played. All three concerts
gave me great pleasure, as I have not heard any good music for so
long. For a musician who writes as much as I do it is very
necessary and refreshing to hear foreign music from time to time.
Nothing inspires me more than listening to a great foreign work:
immediately I want to write one equally beautiful.

“I have also been once or twice to the Conservatoire, and was very
pleased to notice that Taneiev is just the Director we wanted under
the circumstances. His work shows resolution, firmness, energy, and
also capability. I hear nothing about _Les Caprices d’Oxane_, and
begin to fear the work will not be produced this season.”

The following letter was written after Ippolitov-Ivanov had communicated the success of _Mazeppa_ in Tiflis.

_To M. M. Ippolitov-Ivanov._[110]

“_December_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1885.

“ ...As to _Mazeppa_, accept my warmest thanks. My brother and his
wife, who live in Tiflis, and had seen the opera in Moscow and
Petersburg, tell me it went splendidly.

“For some time I have been longing to find a subject--not too
dramatic--for an opera, and then to write a work suitable to the
resources of the provincial stage. Should God grant me a long life,
I hope to carry out this plan, and thus to obliterate the
unpleasant recollections of the immeasurable trouble which the
rehearsals of _Mazeppa_ must have left with you. But the harder
your task, the warmer my thanks.”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“MAIDANOVO, _December_ 9_th_ (21_st_), 1885.

“I am going to Moscow on December 14th (26th), principally to
decide the fate of _Les Caprices d’Oxane_. I shall make heroic
efforts to have my opera produced. I am advised to conduct it
myself, and it is possible I may decide to do so. In any case, I
shall spend the holidays in Petersburg.... I am working very hard
at the corrections of _Manfred_. I am still convinced it is my best
work. Meanwhile _The Enchantress_ is laid aside, but the first act
is quite finished. The libretto is splendid. In this I am lucky.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _December_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1885.

“ ... My Third Suite was played at the last concert. The public
gave me an enthusiastic ovation.... Lately we have had such lovely
moonlight nights, without a breath of wind. O God, how beautiful
they are! The Russian winter has a particular charm for me, but
that does not prevent me from planning a journey to Italy in the
spring. I am thinking of going by sea from Naples to
Constantinople, then to Batoum, and thence by train to Tiflis to
visit my brother Anatol, who is already expecting me.”

_To S. I. Taneiev._

“MAIDANOVO, _December_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1885.

“ ... Imagine! I am rejoicing at the thought of hearing Beethoven’s
First Symphony. I had no suspicion that I liked it so much. The
reason is perhaps that it is so like my idol, Mozart. Remember that
on October 27th, 1887, the centenary of _Don Juan_ will be
celebrated.”

_To P. Jurgenson._

“_December_ 22_nd_ (_January_ 3_rd_), 1885.

“ ... I have only just now been able to consider this question of
_Manfred_, of Mackar, and the fee, and this is my decision: Even
were _Manfred_ a work of the greatest genius, it would still remain
a symphony which, on account of its unusual intricacy and
difficulty, would only be played once in ten years. This work
cannot therefore bring any profit either to you or Mackar. On the
other hand, I value it highly. How is the material value of such a
work to be decided? I may be wrong, but it seems to me my best
composition, and a few hundred roubles would not repay me for all
the work and trouble I have put into it. If you were very rich, I
would unhesitatingly demand a very large sum, on the grounds that
you could recover your outlay on other things--but you are not at
all rich. As for Mackar--to speak frankly--I am greatly touched by
his cheerful self-sacrifice, for certainly he can have made very
little out of my works in France. After having just received 20,000
francs from him, we must not show ourselves too grasping,
especially as we know that there is not much to be made out of
_Manfred_.”

“In short, I have made up my mind to claim nothing from Mackar, or
from you, and have already told him this. I tell you also, so that
you should not demand the promised thousand francs from him. The
demanding of payment for restoration of his copy--is your affair.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _January_ 13_th_ (25_th_), 1886.

“DEAR FRIEND,-- ... This time I have not brought back any pleasant
impressions with me from Petersburg. My operas--I do not know
why--have not been given lately, and I feel this the more bitterly
because, owing to the unusual success of _Oniegin_, it appears that
the Direction has been urging that it should be given with greater
frequency. The new symphony _Manfred_ is completely ignored, for no
preparations for its production are being made. In all this I do
not recognise any enmity towards me personally, for in truth I have
no enemies, but a kind of contempt which is a little wounding to my
artistic vanity. Certainly this is an unfavourable year for me.
They have decided not to give _Les Caprices d’Oxane_ in Moscow this
season, and I had been expecting it so impatiently!

“I have a piece of news for you to-day, which pleased me very much.
I had observed that here in Maidanovo the village children are
constantly idle and run about without any occupation, which induced
me to consult with the local priest about the founding of a school.
This has proved to be possible, so long as I assure them an annual
sum. I have consented to do so, and the priest began to take the
necessary steps about two months ago. The official permission to
open a school has arrived and the instruction can begin this week.
I am very glad.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _January_ 14_th_ (26_th_), 1886.

“ ... The priest came to see me to-day, and brought me an
invitation to the opening of the school on the 19th. I am proud to
have initiated this work. I hope some good will come of it. In
spite of the greatest care and moderation, I suffer from dyspepsia.
It is not serious, and I have no doubt a cure at Vichy will
completely set me up.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MOSCOW, _February_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1886.

“How difficult it is after receiving your money to say in the
baldest way,‘Money received, many thanks!’ If only you had an
inkling of all the happiness I owe you, and the whole meaning of
that ‘independence and freedom’ which are the result of my liberty.
Life is an unbroken chain of little unpleasantnesses and collision
with human egoism and pride, and only he can rise above these
things who is free and independent. How often do I say to myself:
_Well that it is so, but how if it were otherwise?_

“Just lately I had some very unpleasant frictions which only just
fell short of open quarrels, but failed to upset me because I could
appear to ignore the wrong inflicted upon me. Yes, in the last few
years of my life there have been many occasions on which I have
sincerely felt the debt of gratitude I owe to you. And yet I
usually send you the receipt as if it were a matter of course. My
gratitude has no limits, my dear.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _February_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1886.

“.... To-day I returned from Moscow, where I have been attending
Rubinstein’s concerts once a week. Were it only a question of
listening to that marvellous pianist, I should not have found the
journeys at all tedious, in spite of my dislike of leaving home.
But I had to go to all the dinners and suppers which were held in
his honour, which I generally found intolerably wearisome and most
injurious to my health. At the last concert Rubinstein played
pieces by Henselt, Thalberg, Liszt, and others. There was very
little artistic choice, but the performance was indeed
astonishing.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _February_ 14_th_ (26_th_), 1886.

“ ... The festival which the town of Moscow held in Rubinstein’s
honour was a great success. He was visibly touched by the energy
and warmth with which the Muscovites expressed their affection for
him. Indeed, everyone must recognise that Rubinstein is worthy of
all such honour. He is not only a gifted artist, but also a most
honourable and generous man.”

_Diary._

“MAIDANOVO, _February_ 22_nd_ (March 8_th_), 1886.

“What an unfathomable gulf lies between the Old and the New
Testament! Read the psalms of David, and at first it is impossible
to understand why they have taken such a high place from an
artistic point of view; and, secondly, why they should stand beside
the Gospels. David is altogether _of this_ world. He divides the
whole of humanity into two unequal portions: sinners (to which
belong the greatest number) and the righteous, at whose head he
places himself. In every psalm he calls down God’s wrath upon the
sinner and His praise upon the righteous; yet the reward and the
punishment are both worldly. The sinners shall be undone, and the
righteous shall enjoy all the good things of this earthly life. How
little that agrees with Christ’s teaching, who prayed for His
enemies, and promised the good no earthly wealth, but rather the
kingdom of heaven! What touching love and compassion for mankind
lies in these words: ‘Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are
heavy laden’! In comparison with these simple words all the psalms
of David are as nothing.”

_Diary._

“_February_ 28_th_ (_March_ 12_th_), 1886.

“ ... At tea I read through Alexis Tolstoi’s _St. John Chrysostom_
and _The Sinner_, which reduced me to tears. While in this
agitation of spirit, into which any strong artistic enjoyment
throws me, I received a telegram from the Conservatoire: ‘The Grand
Duke is coming.’ So all plans go to the devil! Despair,
irresolution, and even terror at the prospect of the journey. Went
in and fed my landlady’s hungry dog. In the twilight I was overcome
with insane depression. Played through my Second Suite, and was
glad to find it not so bad as I had imagined.”

_Diary._

“_March_ 1_st_ (13_th_), 1886.

“.... Played through _Nero_, and cannot sufficiently marvel at the
audacious coolness of the composer. The very sight of the score
makes me fume. However, I only play this abomination because the
sense of my superiority--at least, as regards
conscientiousness--strengthens my energy. I believe I compose
badly, but when I come across such an atrocity, written in all
earnestness, I feel a certain relief. I am ashamed to show so much
anger over such a publication--but there is no need to disguise
one’s feelings in a diary.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _March_ 13_th_ (25_th_), 1886.

“DEAR FRIEND,--I have not written to you for a long time owing to a
ten days’ visit to Moscow.... I devoted two days to the rehearsal
of _Manfred_, and attended the concert at which it was played. I am
quite satisfied; I am sure it is my best symphonic work. The
performance was excellent, but it seemed to me the public were
unintelligent and cold, although they gave me quite an ovation at
the end....”

The very short and sparse Press notices of _Manfred_ add nothing essential to Tchaikovsky’s words. They merely confirm the fact that the Symphony received an excellent rendering, but the author’s high opinion of his work only held good as regards the first two movements; later on he came to reckon the other movements, the Pastorale, Ariman’s Kingdom, and Manfred’s Death, as being on a level with _The Oprichnik_, one of the least favoured of his works.

Although out of chronological order, I may mention here that on the occasion of a performance of this work in Petersburg (December, 1886) Cui gave it the most enthusiastic and unreserved praise. Everything pleased him, especially the Scherzo, and his criticism closed with these words: “We must be grateful to Tchaikovsky for having enriched the treasury of our national symphonic music.”

VIII

_To M. Tchaikovsky._

“TIFLIS, _April_ 1_st_ (13_th_), 1886.

“ ... I left Moscow on March 23rd (April 4th), and travelled direct
to Taganrog to Hyppolite, whose guest I was for two days, so as to
arrive in Vladikavkas on the 28th.

“Early on Sunday (30th) I started in a four-horse post-carriage,
accompanied by a guard, whose sole duty is to look after the
requirements and comforts of the travellers. I had not slept the
preceding night on account of the horrible bed and the insects
(when I think of the _best_ hotel in Vladikavkas I feel quite
sick), and thought therefore that the beauties of the Georgian Road
would make but little impression on me. The road is, however, so
grand, so astonishingly beautiful, that I never thought of sleeping
the whole day long. The variety of impressions did not allow my
interest to flag for a moment. At first the approach to the
mountains was slow, although they appeared to be quite close to us,
and yet we still drove on and on. Then the valley of the Terek
became narrower, and we reached the wild and gloomy Darjal Gorge.
Afterwards we ascended into the region of snow. Shortly before I
started on my journey there had been an avalanche, and hundreds of
miserable-looking natives were busy shovelling away the snow. At
last we were driving higher and higher between great snow walls,
and it was necessary to put on our furs. By six o’clock we were
descending into the Aragva Valley, and spent the night in Mlety. I
occupied the _imperial rooms_. After the dirt of the Vladikavkas
hotel I found the clean rooms, good beds, and daintily-set table
very delightful. I dined, took a little walk by moonlight in the
gallery, and went to bed at nine o’clock. Next morning I started
off again. Already we could feel the breath of the south in the
air; the sides of the mountains were cultivated, and constantly
there came in sight picturesque _aouli_[111] and all kinds of
dwellings. The descent was made at a terrific pace, considering the
curves of the road. Not far from Dushet such a wonderful view came
in sight that I almost wept with delight. The further we descended,
the more the influence of the south wind was felt. At last we
reached Mtskhet (noted for the ruins of its castle and the
celebrated cathedral), and at half-past five we reached Tiflis.
Toly and his wife were not there; they had not expected me till
later, and had gone to meet me at Mtskhet. They did not arrive till
eight o’clock. Meanwhile I had had time to wash, dress, and see
something of the town. It is delightful. The trees are not yet all
green; the fruit trees are in full blossom; a mass of flowers in
the gardens. It is as warm as in June--in a word, really
spring--just as it was four years ago when we left Naples. The
chief streets are very lively; splendid shops, and quite a European
air. But when I came to the native quarters I found myself in
entirely new surroundings. The streets mean and narrow, as in
Venice; on both sides an endless row of small booths and all kinds
of workshops, where the natives squat and work before the eyes of
the passers-by....”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“TIFLIS, _April_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1886.

“I begin to know Tiflis quite well already, and have seen the
sights. I have been in the baths, built in Oriental style. Visited
the celebrated churches, amongst others the Armenian church, where
I was not only very much interested in the peculiarities of the
service, but also in the singing; I also visited David’s monastery
on the hill, where Griboiedov[112] lies buried. One evening I went
to a concert given by the Musical Society, where a very poor, thin
orchestra played Beethoven’s Third Symphony, Borodin’s _Steppes_,
and my Serenade for strings, to a public which was conspicuous by
its absence. Many excellent musicians live in Tiflis; the most
prominent are the talented composer Ippolitov-Ivanov and the
pianist Eugene Korganov, an Armenian, and a former student of the
Moscow Conservatoire. They show me every attention, and although I
should much prefer to remain incognito, I am much touched by this
proof of the love and sympathy of my fellow-workers. I had
certainly not expected to find my music so widely known in Tiflis.
My operas are played oftener here than anywhere else, and I am
pleased that _Mazeppa_ is such a great favourite.”

_Diary._

“TIFLIS, _April_ 11_th_ (23_rd_), 1886.

“While waiting for Korganov I busied myself with looking through
his works. He came first, then Ippolitov-Ivanov. The poor Armenian
(a very nice man and a good musician) was very grieved at my
criticism. Then Ivanov played his things: very good.”

_To M. Tchaikovsky._

“TIFLIS, _April_ 23_rd_ (_May_ 5_th_), 1886.

“MODI,--I only remain a few days longer in Tiflis. I could count
this month the happiest in my life, if it were not for the
visitors, and for my social existence. I do not think I have yet
written to you of the honour paid me on the 19th. It was simply
splendid. At eight o’clock, accompanied by Pani,[113] I entered the
Director’s box, which was decorated with flowers and foliage. The
whole theatre rose, and amid great applause I was presented with a
silver wreath and many others. A deputation from the Musical
Society read an address. Then the concert began, which consisted
entirely of my works. There were endless cheers! I have never
experienced anything like it before. After the concert, a
subscription supper, with many toasts. A most exhausting evening,
but a glorious remembrance.”

This was the first great honour in Tchaikovsky’s life, and made a most agreeable impression on him, as proving the recognition of his merit by the Russian nation. Tchaikovsky, in the depths of his heart, was well aware that fame would eventually come, and that he would be worthy of it. He did not realise, however, that what he had already created was as worthy of fame as what he should create in the future. He knew, indeed, that the popularity of his name had greatly increased in the last few years, but he was still far from suspecting the truth. The honour paid him in Tiflis revealed to him his real relation to the Russian public. This revelation was so pleasing to his artistic vanity that it overcame for a moment his characteristic timidity and his dislike of posing before the public.

IX

Just at this time Tchaikovsky had to travel to Paris on important family business. He wished also to take this opportunity of making acquaintance with his Paris publisher, Mackar. To avoid the fatigue of the wearisome railway journey, he thought of taking the steamer from Batoum to Italy, thence by train to France. But owing to cholera at Naples, the French steamer belonging to the Batoum-Marseilles line did not call at the Italian port. Tchaikovsky therefore gave up his idea of visiting Italy, and took a through ticket for Marseilles by one of the steamers of the “Packet Company.”

_To A. Tchaikovsky._

“STEAMSHIP ‘ARMENIA,’ _May_ 3_rd_ (15_th_), 1886.

“ ... I am feeling less home-sick to-day, and better able to enjoy
the sea, the mountains, and the sun ... but how stupid it is, that
one can only be alone in one’s cabin! On deck, scarcely a quarter
of an hour passes without someone beginning a conversation. I know
all the passengers already, but have not taken to anyone. The
captain talks to me about music, and enrages me by his stupid
opinions. A Frenchman, a doctor from Trebizond, also sets up to be
a lover of music, and thinks it his duty--now he has discovered I
am a musician--to talk to me about this detestable art, which seems
to possess the quality of interesting everybody....”

_To A. Tchaikovsky._

“ARCHIPELAGO, _May_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1886.

“The day before yesterday, about midday, we reached the Bosphorus
in the most glorious weather. It is wonderfully beautiful, and the
further one goes the more beautiful it becomes. About three o’clock
we arrived at Constantinople. The motion was very great during the
passage into the harbour. About five o’clock we got into a boat,
and were rowed over to the town. The captain had made up his mind
to stay twenty-four hours in Constantinople, so I thought I would
spend the night at an hotel. The next day I visited the places of
interest. The cathedral of St. Sophia delighted and astonished me.
But, on the whole, I do not much care for Constantinople, and the
famous Constantinople dogs simply make me feel sick. By 5 p.m. we
were once more on board, and started immediately. New passengers
had joined the ship. I preferred to remain in my own snug little
cabin; the whole evening I watched the water and the moonlight, and
absorbed all the poetry of a sea journey. To-day is a little
rougher. Many are ill--even men. I am quite well, and find a
certain pleasure in the motion, and in watching the foaming blue
waves. No trace of fear. I am quite accustomed to my surroundings,
and have made friends with everyone, especially a Turkish officer,
who is travelling to Paris.”

_To M. Tchaikovsky_.

“‘ARMENIA,’ _May_ 8_th_ (20_th_), 1886.

“ ... To-day the sea is just like a mirror. So far we have been
very lucky, and it is impossible to imagine anything more
beautiful than such a journey. Of course there are some wearisome
moments, especially when they begin to talk of music. The chief
offender is an Englishman, who continually bothers me with
questions as to whether I like this or that song by Tosti, Denza,
etc. Also a French doctor, who has invented a new piano in which
every sign for transposition (♯, ♭, x, ♭♭) has its own
keynote. He talks incessantly of his awful invention, and gives me
long pamphlets on the subject. We have already passed Sicily and
the heel of the Italian boot. Etna is smoking a little, and to the
left there is a horrible pillar of smoke and fire which excites us
all very much. The captain cannot say for certain what it means,
and seems somewhat disturbed by it. Consequently I, too, feel a
little afraid.”

_To A. Tchaikovsky_.

“‘ARMENIA,’ _May_ 9_th_ (21_st_), 1886.

“The pillar of smoke and fire about which I wrote yesterday proves
to be a terrible eruption of Mount Etna, not at the top, but at the
side. This eruption was distinctly visible at a distance of three
hundred versts, and the nearer we came the more interesting was the
sight. Alexis woke me at two in the morning, that I might see this
unique spectacle. We were in the Straits of Messina; the sea, which
had been quite calm all day, was now very rough; I cannot describe
the beauties of the moonlight, the fire from Mount Etna, and the
swelling waves. At 3 a.m. I went back to bed and at five the
captain sent a sailor to wake me, so that I might see the town of
Messina, the sunrise, and the eruption on the other side. Later we
passed between the volcano Stromboli and a new little island giving
forth smoke; at least, the captain, who knows these parts well, has
never suspected a volcano here and thinks it may portend a serious
eruption. To-day the weather is splendid and the sea much
quieter.”

_Diary_.

“PARIS, _May_ 21_st_ (_June_ 2_nd_), 1886.

“I decided to go and see Mackar. What I suffered, and how excited I
was, passes description. Ten times I tried to go in, and always
turned away again--even a large glass of absinthe did not help me.
At last I went. He was expecting me. I had pictured him a little
man like Wuchs. He is astonishingly like Bessel. We talked a little
(someone near me was buying my works), and then I left. Naturally I
felt a weight off my heart.”

_To P. V. Tchaikovsky_.[114]

“PARIS, _June_ 1_st_ (13_th_), 1886.

“ ... Yesterday I had breakfast with old Madam Viardot. She is such
a stately and interesting woman; I was quite enchanted. Although
seventy, she only looks about forty. She is very lively, amiable,
gay, and sociable, and knew how to make me feel at home from the
very first moment.”

Later Tchaikovsky wrote the following details to Nadejda von Meck concerning his acquaintance with Madame Viardot:--

“ ... Madame Viardot often speaks about Tourgeniev, and described
to me how he and she wrote ‘The Song of Love Triumphant’ together.
Have I already told you that I was with her for two hours while we
went through the _original score_ of Mozart’s _Don Juan_, which
thirty years ago her husband had picked up very cheaply and quite
by accident? I cannot tell you what I felt at the sight of this
musical relic. I felt as if I had shaken Mozart by the hand and
spoken to him!...”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky_.

“_June_ 23_rd_ (11_th_), 1886.

“Yesterday, at the invitation of Ambrose Thomas, I visited the
Conservatoire during the examination of the pianoforte class. He
is a very nice, friendly old man. A certain Madame Bohomoletz, a
rich lady (half Russian), gave a dinner in my honour, followed by a
musical evening, at which my quartet was played (Marsick and
Brandoukov) and my songs were sung.... Leo Délibes has visited me;
this touched me very deeply. Certainly it seems I am not as unknown
in Paris as I thought....”

I will add to this short and disjointed account that Tchaikovsky was received in a most friendly manner by Professor Marmontel, a warm admirer of his works, also by the composers Lalo, Lefèbre, Fauré, and others. The meeting with Colonne and Lamoureux is described by Tchaikovsky himself in a later letter:--

“ ... I saw Colonne several times. He was very friendly, and
expressed a wish to give a concert of my compositions. He asked me
to send him some of my new scores to Aix-les-Bains, so that he
could arrange a programme during the course of the summer. He
continually lamented his _poverty_ and the ‘_terrible_ Concurrence
Lamoureux.’ As to Lamoureux, he was amiability itself, and made me
a thousand promises.”

Tchaikovsky was thrown into close contact with many other artists, several of whom, like the well-known pianist Diemer, for instance, remained his devoted friends to the end.

X

_To N. F. von Meck_.

“MAIDANOVO, _June_ 18_th_ (30_th_), 1886.

“How glad I am to be at home once more! How dear and cosy is my
little house which, when I left, lay deep in snow, and is now
surrounded by foliage and flowers! The three months I spent abroad
were lost time as regards work, but I feel I have gained in
strength, and can now devote my whole time to it without exhausting
myself.”

_Diary._

“_July_ 8_th_ (20_th_), 1886.

“ ... Worked atrociously again. And yet people say I am a genius!
Nonsense!”

_To P. Jurgenson._

“MAIDANOVO, _July_ 19_th_ (31_st_), 1886.

“DEAR FRIEND,--I completely understand the difficulties of your
situation. One of my letters to you is wanted for publication. You
possess hundreds of my letters, but not one suitable to the case.
Very natural; our correspondence was either too business-like, or
too intimate. How can I help you? I cannot commit forgery, even for
the pleasure of appearing in Mme. La Mara’s book;[115] I cannot
write a letter especially for her collection and take this lucky
opportunity of displaying myself in the most favourable light as
musician, thinker, and man. Such a sacrifice on the altar of
European fame is repugnant to me, although, on the other hand, it
would be false to say that Mme. La Mara’s wish to place me among
the prominent musicians of our time did not flatter me in the
least. On the contrary, I am very deeply touched and pleased by the
attention of the well-known authoress, and openly confess I should
be very glad to be included in the company of Glinka, Dargomijsky,
and Serov. If she were not in such a hurry, it would be better to
send to one of my musical friends, such as Laroche, who could not
fail to find among all my letters some with detailed effusions
about my musical likes and dislikes; in short, a letter in which I
speak quite candidly as a musician. But there is no time, and
Laroche is away. Is it not curious that it should be difficult to
find a suitable letter from a man who has carried on--and still
carries on--the widest correspondence, dealing not only with
business matters, but with artistic work? I am continually
exchanging letters with four brothers, a sister, several cousins,
and many friends, besides a quantity of casual correspondence with
people often unknown to me. The necessity of sacrificing so much of
my time to letter-writing is such a burden to me that, from the
bottom of my heart, I curse all the postal arrangements in the
world. The post often causes me sad moments, but it also brings me
the greatest joy. One person plays the chief part in the story of
the last ten years of my life: she is my good genius; to her I owe
all my prosperity and the power to devote myself to my beloved
work. Yet I have never seen her, never heard her voice; all my
intercourse with her is through the post. I can certainly say I
flood the world with my correspondence, and yet I am not in a
position to help you out of your difficulty.

“There is nothing to be done, but to send this letter itself to
Mme. La Mara. If it does not represent me in the least as a
musician, it will at any rate give the authoress a chance of
satisfying her flattering wish to place me among the prominent
musicians of the day.”

_Diary._

“_August_ 1_st_ (13_th_), 1886.

“ ... Played _Manon_ at home. It pleased me better than I expected.
I spent moments of longing and loneliness.”

“_August_ 2_nd_ (14_th_).

“ ... Played _Manon_. To-day Massenet seems to cloy with
sweetness.”

“_August_ 4_th_ (16_th_).

“ ... Played Massenet at home. How stale he has grown! The worst of
it is, that in this staleness I trace a certain affinity to
myself.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _August_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1886.

“ ... I feel at my best when I am alone; when trees, flowers, and
books take the place of human society. O God, how short life is!
How much I have yet to accomplish before it is time to leave off!
How many projects! When I am quite well--as I am at present--I am
seized with a feverish thirst for work, but the thought of the
shortness of human life paralyses all my energy. It was not always
so. I used to believe I could, and must, carry out all my ideas to
completion; therefore my impulses towards creative work were then
more lasting and more fruitful. In any case I hope to have the
outline of the opera (_The Enchantress_) ready in a month’s time,
and then to begin the orchestration.”

_Diary._

“_August_ 6_th_ (18_th_), 1886.

“Played the conclusion of the sickly _Manon_ and Lefèbre’s
inanities to the end.”

“_August_ 15_th_ (27_th_).

“ ... Worked a little before and after supper. Kouma’s Arioso is
finished. Read Loti’s _Pêcheurs d’Islande_. Not very pleased with
it. The tone of the descriptions remind me of that ... Zola
and....”

“_August_ 18_th_ (30_th_).

“Walked in the garden. Worked and completely finished the rough
sketches for the opera. Thank God!”

_To M. Tchaikovsky._

“MAIDANOVA, _September_, 9_th_ (21_st_), 1886.

“ ... I have been all through Vietinghov-Scheel’s opera. Good
heavens! what a weak piece of work! He is a child, and no mature
artist. It is a shame such a work should be given at the Imperial
Opera. However, in this way the Direction have done Rubinstein a
great service. His _Demon_ appears a masterpiece in comparison with
that little Scheel affair. To tell the truth, at present the best
operas in the world are composed by P. I. Tchaikovsky, and _The
Enchantress_ is the most beautiful of them all. A gem all round. At
least so it appears to me at this moment. Probably it appears to
Vietinghov that his _Tamara_ is far more beautiful; and God alone
knows which of us is right.”

_Diary._

“_September_ 20_th_ (October 2_nd_), 1886.

“Tolstoi never speaks with love and enthusiasm of any prophet of
Truth (with the exception of Christ), but rather with contempt and
hatred. We do not know how he regards Socrates, Shakespeare, or
Gogol. We do not know if he cares for Michael Angelo and Raphael,
Tourgeniev, George Sand, Dickens and Flaubert. Perhaps his
sympathies and antipathies in the sphere of philosophy and art are
known to his intimates, but this inspired talker has never openly
let fall a word which could enlighten us as to his attitude towards
those great spirits who are on an equality with him. For instance,
he has told me that Beethoven had no talent (as compared with
Mozart), but he has never expressed himself in writing either on
music or any kindred subject. Truly I think this man inclines only
before God or the people, before humanity as a whole. There is no
individual before whom he would bow down. Suitaiev was not an
individual in Tolstoi’s eyes, but the people itself, the
personified wisdom of the people. It would be interesting to know
what this giant liked or disliked in literature.

“Probably after my death it will be of some interest to the world
to hear of my musical predilections and prejudices, the more so
that I have never expressed them by word of mouth.

“I will begin by degrees, and when touching upon contemporary
musicians I shall also speak of their personalities.

“To begin with Beethoven, whom I praise unconditionally, and to
whom I bend as to a god. But what is Beethoven to me? I bow down
before the grandeur of some of his creations, but I do not love
Beethoven. My relationship to him reminds me of that which I felt
in my childhood to the God Jehovah. I feel for him--for my
sentiments are still unchanged--great veneration, but also fear. He
has created the heaven and the earth, and although I fall down
before him, I do not love him. Christ, on the contrary, calls forth
exclusively the feeling of _love_. He is God, but also Man. He has
suffered like ourselves. We pity Him and love in Him the ideal side
of man’s nature. If Beethoven holds an analogous place in my heart
to the God Jehovah, I love Mozart as the musical Christ. I do not
think this comparison is blasphemous. Mozart was as pure as an
angel, and his music is full of divine beauty.

“While speaking of Beethoven I touch on Mozart. To my mind, Mozart
is the culminating point of all beauty in the sphere of music. He
alone can make me weep and tremble with delight at the
consciousness of the approach of that which we call the ideal.
Beethoven makes me tremble too, but rather from a sense of fear and
yearning anguish. I do not understand how to analyse music, and
cannot go into detail.... Still I must mention two facts. I love
Beethoven’s middle period, and sometimes his first; but I really
hate his _last_, especially the latest quartets. They have only
brilliancy, nothing more. The rest is chaos, over which floats,
veiled in mist, the spirit of this musical Jehovah.

“I love everything in Mozart, for we love everything in the man to
whom we are truly devoted. Above all, _Don Juan_, for through that
work I have learnt to know what music is. Till then (my seventeenth
year) I knew nothing except the enjoyable _semi-music_ of the
Italians. Although I love everything in Mozart, I will not assert
that every one of his works, even the most insignificant, should be
considered a masterpiece. I know quite well that no single example
of his Sonatas is a great creation, and yet I like each one,
because it is his, because he has breathed into it his sacred
breath.

“As to the forerunner of both these artists, I like to play Bach,
because it is interesting to play a good fugue; but I do not regard
him, in common with many others, as a great genius. Handel is only
fourth-rate, he is not even interesting. I sympathise with Glück in
spite of his poor creative gift. I also like some things of Haydn.
These four great masters have been surpassed by Mozart. They are
rays which are extinguished by Mozart’s sun.”

_To the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich._

“_September_, 1886.

“YOUR IMPERIAL HIGHNESS,--Permit me to thank you cordially for your
valued present and your sympathetic letter. Very highly do I esteem
the attention of which you have thought me worthy.

“I only regret, your Highness, that while looking for poems for my
songs which are to be dedicated to her Majesty, I had not as yet
the pleasure of possessing that charming little book which, thanks
to your flattering attention, is now in my hands. How many of your
poems glow with that warm and sincere feeling which makes them
suitable for musical setting! When I read your collection of verses
I determined at once to select some for my next song-cycle, and to
dedicate them, with your gracious permission, to your Highness. I
should be much pleased if you would accept this dedication as the
expression of my sincere devotion.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MAIDANOVO, _October_ 5_th_ (17_th_), 1886.

“ ... What you say about _my conducting_ is as balm to my wounded
heart. The consciousness of my inability to conduct has been a
torment and a martyrdom to me all my life. I think it is
contemptible and shameful to have so little self-control that the
mere thought of stepping into the conductor’s desk makes me tremble
with fright This time too--although I have already promised to
conduct myself--I feel when the time comes my courage will vanish
and I shall refuse.”

_Diary._

“MAIDANOVO, _October_ 7_th_ (19_th_), 1886.

“Played Brahms. It irritates me that this self-conscious mediocrity
should be recognised as a genius. In comparison with him, Raff was
a giant, not to speak of Rubinstein, who was a much greater man.
And Brahms is so chaotic, so dry and meaningless!”

XI

At the end of October Tchaikovsky went to Petersburg, to be present at the first performance of Napravnik’s opera, _Harold_. But as the performance was constantly postponed, he finally returned to Maidanovo without waiting for it. Nevertheless, the journey was not without results, for Vsievolojsky, Director of the Imperial Opera, commissioned Tchaikovsky for the first time to compose a ballet. Joukovsky’s _Undine_ was chosen as a subject.

Judging from all accounts, this visit to Petersburg must have convinced Tchaikovsky of his great popularity there. Not only did he meet with a very friendly reception from the composers, with Rimsky-Korsakov at their head, but he received from an anonymous well-wisher, through the medium of Stassov, a premium of 500 roubles, usually bestowed on the best musical novelty of the season, judged in this instance to be _Manfred_. He was also honoured by a brilliant gathering on the occasion of his election as honorary member of the St. Petersburg Chamber Music Society.

_To Rimsky-Korsakov._

“_October_ 30_th_ (_November_ 11_th_), 1886.

“DEAR NICHOLAS ANDREIEVICH,--I have a favour to ask. Arensky is now
quite recovered, although I find him somewhat depressed and
agitated. I like him so much and wish you would sometimes take an
interest in him, for, as regards music, he venerates you more than
anyone else. The best way of doing this would be to give one of his
works at one of your next concerts. There, where all Russian
composers find a place, should be a little room for Arensky, who,
at any rate, is as good as the rest. But as you would not like to
offend anyone, I propose that you should put one of Arensky’s works
in the programme of your fourth concert instead of my _Romeo_
overture. He needs stirring up; and such an impulse given by you
would count for so much with him, because he loves and respects
you. Please think it over and grant my wish. Thereby you will make
your deeply devoted pupil (Arensky) very happy.

“In conclusion, I must add that your ‘Spanish Capriccio’ is a
_colossal masterpiece of instrumentation_, and you may regard
yourself as the greatest master of the present day.”

_To M. Tchaikovsky._

“MOSCOW, _November_ 19_th_ (_December_ 1_st_), 1886.

“ ... I arrived in Moscow early to-day. There has already been a
rehearsal. I was ill again after my last letter to you. This time I
was so bad that I decided to send for the doctor. It seemed to me
that I was about to have a strange illness. Suddenly I received a
telegram saying that I must be at the rehearsal.[116] I answered
that the rehearsal was not to be thought of, for I could not
travel. But at the end of half an hour I suddenly felt so well
that--in spite of terrible disinclination--I went to Moscow. Every
trace of headache, which for ten days had so affected me, vanished.
Is not this a curious pathological case?”

_To A. S. Arensky._

“_November_ 24_th_ (_December_ 6_th_), 1886.

“DEAR FRIEND ANTON STEPANOVICH,--I only received your welcome
letter yesterday; I knew already from Taneiev that you had composed
_Marguerite Gautier_ and dedicated it to me. Thank you cordially
for this dedication. The attention and honour you have shown me
touch me deeply. _Marguerite_ lies beside me on the table, and--in
my free moments, which are not many--I cast a glance at it here and
there, with much interest and pleasure. Please do not feel hurt
that I did not write you my impressions at once. At the first
glance I found the work very interesting, because you have entirely
departed from your accustomed style. _Marguerite_ has so little
resemblance to the Suite and the Symphony that one could easily
suppose it came from the pen of a different man. The elegance of
form, harmony, and orchestration are the same, but the character of
the theme and its working out are quite different. Naturally the
question arises: Is it better than the Symphony and the Suite? At
present I cannot answer.”

Although somewhat anticipating my narrative, I will insert here an extract from a later letter of Tchaikovsky’s, in which he gives Arensky his opinion of _Marguerite Gautier_.

_To A. Arensky._

“MAIDANOVO, _April_ 2_nd_ (14_th_), 1887.

“DEAR ANTON STEPANOVICH,--I wrote to you in August that I would
pronounce judgment on _Marguerite Gautier_ as soon as I had heard
the work and had leisure to study the score. I held it all the more
my duty to wait because, although I value your talent very highly,
I do not like your Fantasia. It is very easy to praise a man who is
highly esteemed. But to say to him: ‘Not beautiful; I do not like
it,’ without basing one’s judgment on a full explanation, is very
difficult....

“I must state my opinion briefly. First the choice of subject. It
was very painful and mortifying to me, and to all your friends,
that you had chosen _La Dame aux Camelias_ as the subject of your
Fantasia. How can an educated musician--when there are Homer,
Shakespeare, Gogol, Poushkin, Dante, Tolstoi, Lermontov, and
others--feel any interest in the production of Dumas _fils_, which
has for its theme the history of a demi-mondaine adventuress which,
even if written with French cleverness, is in truth false,
sentimental, and vulgar? Such a choice might be intelligible in
Verdi, who employed subjects which could excite people’s nerves at
a period of artistic decadence; but it is quite incomprehensible in
a young and gifted Russian musician, who has enjoyed a good
education, and is, moreover, a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov and a
friend of S. Taneiev.

“Now for the music: (1) _The Orgies._--If we are to realise in
these orgies a supper after a ball at the house of a light woman,
in which a crowd of people participate, eat mayonnaise with
truffles, and afterwards dance the _cancan_, the music is not
wanting _in realism_, fire, and brilliancy. It is, moreover,
saturated with Liszt, as is the whole Fantasia. Its beauty--if one
looks at it closely--is purely on the surface; there are no
enthralling passages. Such beauty is not _true_ beauty, but only a
forced imitation, which is rather a fault than a merit. We find
this superficial beauty in Rossini, Donizetti, Bellini,
Mendelssohn, Massenet, Liszt, and others. But they were also
masters in their own way, though their chief characteristic was not
the Ideal, after which we ought to strive. For neither Beethoven,
nor Bach (who is wearisome, but still a genius), nor Glinka, nor
Mozart, ever strove after this surface beauty, but rather the
ideal, often veiled under a form which at first sight is
unattractive.

“(2) _Pastorale in Bougival._--Oh God! If you could only understand
how unpoetical and unpastoral this Bougival is, with its boats, its
inns, and its _cancans_! This movement is as good as most
conventional pastoral ballets that are composed by musicians of
some talent.

“(3) _The Love Melody_

is altogether beautiful. It reminds me of Liszt. Not of any
particular melody, but it is in his style, after the manner of his
semi-Italian melodies, which are wanting in the plasticity and
simplicity of the true Italian folk airs. Moreover, the
continuation of your theme:

is not only beautiful, but wonderful; it captivates both the ear
and the heart.

“No one can ever reproach you with regard to the technical part of
your work, which deserves unqualified praise.”

_To Modeste Tchaikovsky._

“MOSCOW, _December_ 4_th_ (16_th_), 1886.

“MY DEAR MODI,--Something very important happened to-day. I
conducted the first orchestral rehearsal in such style that all
were astonished (unless it were mere flattery), for they had
expected I should make a fool of myself. The nearer came the
terrible day, the more unbearable was my nervousness. I was often
on the point of giving up the idea of conducting. In the end I
mastered myself, was enthusiastically received by the orchestra,
found courage to make a little speech, and raised the bâton. Now I
know I _can_ conduct, I shall not be nervous at the performance.”

_To N. F. von Meck._

“MOSCOW, _January_ 14_th_ (26_th_), 1887.