IX To N. F. von Meck
“Rome, January 2nd (14th), 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 11th (23rd), 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 12th (24th), 1880.
“This morning I received an amiable letter from Colonne, telling me my symphony73 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 16th (28th), 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 5th (17th), 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 4th (16th), 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 5th (17th), 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 6th (18th), 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 16th (28th), 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 18th (March 1st), 1880.
“The Concerto76 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 26th (March 9th), 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 4th (16th), 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 5th (17th), 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 10th (22nd), 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 20th (April 1st), 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.”
On March 25th several of Tchaikovsky’s works were performed at a concert given by two singers, well known in Petersburg, V. Issakov and Madame Panaev. The First Suite and the Romeo and Juliet overture were played by the orchestra of the Russian Opera under Napravnik. The Suite had the greatest success, especially the “Marche Miniature.” The great novelist Tourgeniev was present on this occasion.
To N. F. von Meck.
“Moscow, April 2nd (14th), 1880.
“I have come here with the intention of spending three days incognito and finishing my work. Besides, I need the rest. Imagine, my dear friend, for the last few days I have hardly ever been out of a tail coat and white tie and associating with the most august personages. It is all very flattering, sometimes touching; but fatiguing to the last degree. I feel so happy and comfortable in my room in the hotel, not being obliged to go anywhere, or do anything!”