II
Tchaikovsky left St. Petersburg early in January, 1866.
At this time his letters show his depth of tenderness for his own people, his first feelings of loneliness in the strange city, his indifference to his surroundings, and finally his gradual attachment to Moscow, which ended in being “the dearest town in the world.”
To Anatol and Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“3.30 p.m., January 6th (18th).
“My dear Brothers,—My journey, although sad, is safely over. I thought about you the whole way, and it grieved me to think that lately I had overshadowed you with my own depression, although I fought hard against it. Do not, however, doubt my affection, even if I do not always show it outwardly. I am staying at the Hotel Kokorev. I have already seen Rubinstein and been introduced to two directors of the Musical Society. Rubinstein was so pressing in his invitation to me to live with him that I could not refuse, and shall go there to-morrow.... I hug you both. Do not cease to love me. Give my remembrances to everyone. Write! I will write again soon. I have just written to Dad. You must also do so.”
To the same.
“Moscow, January 10th (22nd).
“Dear Brothers,—I am now living with Nicholas Rubinstein. He is a very kind and sympathetic man. He has none of his brother’s unapproachable manner, but in other respects he is not to be compared with Anton—as an artist. I have a little room next to his bedroom, and, truth to tell, I am afraid the scratching of my pen must disturb him after he goes to bed, for our rooms are only divided by a thin partition. I am very busy (upon the orchestration of the C minor overture composed during the summer). I sit at home nearly all day, and Rubinstein, who leads rather an excitable life, cannot sufficiently marvel at my industry. I have been to both theatres. The opera was very bad, so for once I did not get as much artistic enjoyment from it as from the play.... I have hardly made any new acquaintances except Kashkin, a friend of Laroche’s and a first-rate musician, whom I have got to know very well indeed.
“Sometimes I feel rather melancholy, but as a rule I am possessed by an insatiable craving for work, which is my greatest consolation.... I have promised Rubinstein my overture shall be performed here before I send it to Petersburg. Yesterday at bedtime I thought a great deal about you both. I pictured to myself all the horrors of the first night after the holidays, and fancied how Modi would hide his nose under the bed-clothes and cry bitterly. How I wish I could have comforted him! It is not a meaningless phrase, Modi, when I tell you to grind and grind and grind, and to make friends with your respectable companions, but not with that crazy fellow X.... I am afraid you will be left behind in your class and be one of those who get into the master’s black books. I have no fears for Toly, so I send him no advice. Toly, my dear, conquer your indolence as a correspondent and write to me. Hearty kisses!”
The overture in C minor, referred to in this letter, was submitted to Nicholas Rubinstein a few days later. His opinion, however, was unfavourable, and he declared the work unsuitable for performance by the Musical Society. Tchaikovsky then sent the work to Petersburg, in order that Laroche might ask Anton Rubinstein to perform it there. “I have left your overture with Rubinstein,” Laroche wrote in reply, “and repeated your request verbatim. He replied by a low, ironical bow. But this is just his way.” The overture was not approved by Anton Rubinstein, nor did it meet with a happier fate when Laroche tried to persuade Liadov to give it a place at one of the opera concerts. Long afterwards Tchaikovsky himself shared this adverse opinion of the work, and wrote upon the cover of the manuscript, “Awful rubbish.”
To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.
“January 15th (27th).
“... I have nothing particular to tell you about my life and work. I am to teach the theory of music, and yesterday I held the preliminary examination. Many pretty girls presented themselves.... I like Moscow very well, but I doubt if I shall ever get accustomed to it; I have been too long rooted in Petersburg.”
To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.
“January 15th (27th).
“My dear Brothers,—Do not waste your money on stamps. It would be better to write only once a week, a long letter in the form of a diary....
“I get on very well with everyone, especially with Rubinstein, Kashkin, Albrecht, and Osberg.12 I have also made friends with a family of the name Tchaikovsky.13 I have eaten a great deal at their house, but I did not take part in the dancing, although I was attired in Rubinstein’s dress-coat. The latter looks after me like a nurse, and insists upon doing so. To-day he forced me to accept half a dozen new shirts (you need not mention this to the Davidovs or anyone else), and to-morrow he will carry me off to his tailor to order me a frock-coat. He is a wonderfully kind man, but I cannot understand how he has won his great reputation as a musician. He is rather ordinary in this respect, not to be compared to his brother.14
“In mentioning my friends here, I must not omit Rubinstein’s servant Alexander. He is a worthy old man, and possesses a splendid white cat which is now sitting on my lap, while I stroke it gently. My pleasantest pastime is to think of the summer. Lately I have felt drawn to Sasha, Leo, and their children, and have now decided to spend the summer with you at their house.”
To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.
“Sunday, January 30th (February 11th).
“... I laugh heartily over Dickens’s Pickwick Papers, with no one to share my mirth; but sometimes this thought incites me to even wilder hilarity. I recommend you to read this book; when one wants to read fiction it is best to begin with such an author as Dickens. He has much in common with Gogol; the same inimitable and innate humour and the same masterly power of depicting an entire character in a few strokes. But he has not Gogol’s depth....
“The idea of an opera begins to occupy my attention. All the libretti Rubinstein has given me are utterly bad. I have found a subject, and intend to write words myself. It will simply be the adaptation of a tragedy. The poet Plestcheiev is living here, and has promised to help me.”
To his sister, Alexandra Davidov.
“February 7th (19th).
“I am gradually becoming accustomed to Moscow, although sometimes I feel very lonely. My classes are very successful, to my great astonishment; my nervousness is vanishing completely, and I am gradually assuming the airs of a professor. My home-sickness is also wearing off, but still Moscow is a strange place, and it will be long before I can contemplate without horror the thought of remaining here for years—perhaps for ever....”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
(The middle of February.)
“My Dear Friend Modi,—I have been very busy lately, and therefore have not written for a long while. Rubinstein has entrusted me with some important work which has to be finished by the third week in Lent....
“Life glides on quietly and monotonously, so that I have hardly anything to tell you. I often visit the Tarnovskys, whose niece is the loveliest girl I ever saw in my life. I am very much taken with her, which causes Rubinstein to be a perfect nuisance. The moment we arrive at the house the others begin to tease us and leave us together. At home she is called ‘Mufka,’ and just now I am wondering whether I dare use this name for her too. I only need to know her a little better. Rubinstein has also been in love with her, but his sentiments have now grown cooler.
“My nerves are in good condition; I am very calm and even cheerful. I often console myself with thoughts of Easter, spring, and the summer holidays.”
The work to which Tchaikovsky refers at the beginning of this letter was the instrumentation of his overture in F major, which had been originally scored for the small orchestra of the Petersburg Conservatoire. In later years the composer must have destroyed the fuller arrangement of the work, although at this time he seems to have been satisfied with the result.
To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.
“March 6th (18th).
“... My overture was performed on Friday, and had a good success. I was unanimously recalled, and—to be grandiloquent—received with applause that made the welkin ring. More flattering still was the ovation I met with at the supper which Rubinstein gave after the concert.... After supper he proposed my health amid renewed applause. I go into these details because it is my first public success, and consequently very gratifying.”
At the end of March Tchaikovsky, eager as a schoolboy at the beginning of his holidays, left Moscow for Petersburg, where he stayed until April 4th (16th).
To A. and M. Tchaikovsky.
“Moscow, April 7th (19th).
“Brothers! Forgive me for not having written before. The journey was safely accomplished. The news of the attempt upon the Emperor’s life reached us at the station where we stopped for tea, but only in a very vague form.15 We pictured to ourselves that he was actually dead, and one lady wept bitterly, while another began to extol all the virtues of the new sovereign. Only at Moscow I learnt the true account. The rejoicings here were beyond belief; yesterday at the Opera, where I went to hear A Life for the Tsar, when the Poles appeared on the stage the entire public began to shout, ‘Down with the Poles!’ In the last scene of the fourth act, in which the Poles put Sousanin to death, the singer who was taking this part resisted with such realistic violence that he knocked down several of the ‘Polish’ chorus-singers. When the rest of the ‘Poles’ saw that this outrage to art and to the truth delighted the public, they promptly fell down of their own accord, and the triumphant Sousanin walked away, shaking his fists at them, amid the vociferous applause of the Muscovites. At the end of the opera the Emperor’s portrait was brought on the stage, and an indescribable tumult followed.”
To Alexandra Davidov.
“April 18th (20th).
“I am going to act as advocate for two mortals who are just crazy about Kamenka. You write that Toly and Modi might be left in Petersburg, but I am determined not to tell them your point of view. They would utterly lose heart—especially Toly. One of my chief reasons for caring to spend the summer at Kamenka is to be with them, and your house is the only place where we can be together for a time. If you only knew how these little fellows cling to me (and I return their love a hundredfold), you would not find it in your heart to separate us. Arrange, my dear, for this visit to come off. Very likely I shall be able to take part of the expense off your hands.”
Before the summer holidays came, Tchaikovsky’s health was in an unsatisfactory condition. He complains in his letters of insomnia, nervousness, and the throbbing sensations in his head, to which he often refers as “my apoplectic symptoms.” At the end of April his depression became very apparent, and he wrote to his brother Anatol:—
“My nerves are altogether shaken. The causes are: (1) the symphony, which does not sound satisfactory; (2) Rubinstein and Tarnovsky have discovered that I am easily startled, and amuse themselves by giving me all manner of shocks all day long; (3) I cannot shake off the conviction that I shall not live long, and shall leave my symphony unfinished. I long for the summer and for Kamenka as for the Promised Land, and hope to find rest and peace, and to forget all my troubles there. Yesterday I determined to touch no more wine, spirits, or strong tea.
“I hate mankind in the mass, and I should be delighted to retire into some wilderness with very few inhabitants. I have already secured my ticket in the diligence for May 10th (22nd).”
The visit to Kamenka, to which he had looked forward through the winter and spring, did not actually come to pass. In consequence of the state of the high-roads, the diligence was unable to run beyond Dovsk; the remainder of the journey had to be undertaken, at the traveller’s own risk and expense, in a private post-chaise. Tchaikovsky’s funds did not permit of this extra strain, and the visit to his sister was abandoned. With the assistance of his father, Anatol was sent to Kamenka, while Peter Ilich, with Modeste, went for a time to his sister’s mother-in-law at Miatlev, near Petersburg.
In spite of the beauty of scenery and his pleasure in being with his excellent friends, Elizabeth and Vera Davidov, in spite of being near his father and the poetical impression derived from a trip to Lake Ladoga, Tchaikovsky did not altogether enjoy his holiday at Miatlev. The cause of this was his G minor symphony, afterwards known as Winter Day Dreams. Not one of his compositions gave him so much trouble as this symphony.
He began this work in Moscow during the spring, and it was the cause of his nervous disorders and numerous sleepless nights. These difficulties were partly caused by his want of experience in composition, and partly by his habit of working by night as well as by day. At the end of June he had a terrible nervous breakdown, and the doctor who was called in to see him declared he had narrowly escaped madness, and that his condition was very serious. The most alarming symptoms of the illness were his hallucinations and a constant feeling of dread. That he suffered intensely is evident from the fact that he never again attempted to work through the night.
In consequence of his illness, Tchaikovsky was unable to finish the symphony during the summer. Nevertheless, before his return to Moscow he resolved to submit it to his former masters, Anton Rubinstein and Zaremba, hoping they might offer to let it be heard at the Musical Society.
Once more he was doomed to disappointment. His symphony was severely criticised, rejected, and pronounced unworthy of performance. It was the first completely independent work which he had composed after leaving the Petersburg Conservatoire. The only other work upon which he was engaged at this time was the orchestration of his F major and C minor overtures, which still remain unpublished.