XIV To M. Tchaikovsky
“Kamenka, May 10th (22nd), 1882.
“Modi, I am writing at night with tears in my eyes. Do not be alarmed—nothing dreadful has happened. I have just finished Bleak House, and shed a few tears, first, because I pity Lady Dedlock, and find it hard to tear myself away from all these characters with whom I have been living for two months (I began the book when I left Florence), and secondly, from gratitude that so great a writer as Dickens ever lived.... I want to suggest to you a capital subject for a story. But I am tired, so I will leave it until to-morrow.
“Subject for a Story.
“The tale should be told in the form of a diary, or letters to a friend in England. Miss L. comes to Russia. Everything appears to her strange and ridiculous. The family into which she has fallen please her—especially the children—but she cannot understand why the whole foundation of family life lacks the discipline, the sense of Christian duty, and the good bringing-up which prevail in English homes. She respects this family, but regards them as belonging to a different race, and the gulf between herself and them seems to grow wider. She draws into herself and remains there. Weariness and oppression possess her. The sense of duty, and the need of working for her family, keep her from despair. She is religious, in the English way, and finds the Russian Church, with its ritual, absurd and repugnant. Some of the family and their relations with her must be described in detail.
“A new footman appears upon the scene. At first she does not notice him at all. One day, however, she becomes aware that he has looked at her in particular—and love steals into her heart. At first she does not understand what has come over her. Why does she sympathise with him when he is working—others have to work too? Why does she feel so ill at ease when he waits on her? Then the footman begins to make love to the laundrymaid. In her feeling of hatred for this girl she realises she is jealous, and discovers her love. She gives the man all the money she has saved to go on a journey for his health, etc. She begins to love everything Russian.... She changes her creed. The footman is dismissed for some fault. She struggles with herself—but finally goes with him. One fine day he says to her: ‘Go to the devil and take your ugly face with you! What do you want from me?’ I really do not know how it all ends....”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka, May 29th (June 10th), 1882.
“... You ask me why I chose the subject of Mazeppa. About a year ago K. Davidov (Director of the Petersburg Conservatoire) passed on this libretto to me. It is arranged by Bourenin from Poushkin’s poem Poltava. At that time it did not please me much, and although I tried to set a few scenes to music, I could not get up much enthusiasm, so put it aside. For a whole year I sought in vain for some other book, because the desire to compose another opera increased steadily. Then one day I took up the libretto of Mazeppa once more, read Poushkin’s poem again, was carried away by some of the scenes and verses—and set to work upon the scene between Maria and Mazeppa, which is taken without alteration from the original text. Although I have not experienced as yet any of the profound enjoyment I felt in composing Eugene Oniegin; although the work progresses slowly and I am not much drawn to the characters—I continue to work at it because I have started, and I believe I may be successful. As regards Charles XII. I must disappoint you, dear friend. He does not come into my opera, because he only played an unimportant part in the drama between Mazeppa, Maria, and Kochoubey.”
The first symphony concert in the hall of the Art and Industrial Exhibition took place on May 18th (30th), 1882, under the direction of Anton Rubinstein. On this occasion Taneiev played Tchaikovsky’s Second Pianoforte Concerto for the first time in public. It was received with much applause, but it was difficult to determine whether this was intended for the composer, or the interpreter.
To N. F. von Meck.
“Grankino, June 9th (21st), 1882.
“The quiet and freedom of this place delight me. This is true country life! The walks are very monotonous; there is nothing but the endless, level Steppe. The garden is large, and will be beautiful, but at present it is new. In the evening the Steppe is wonderful, and the air so exquisitely pure; I cannot complain. The post only comes once a week, and there are no newspapers. One lives here in complete isolation from the world, and that has a great fascination for me. Sometimes I feel—to a certain extent—the sense of perfect contentment I used always to experience in Brailov and Simaki. O God, how sad it is to think that those moments of inexpressible happiness will never return!”89
To N. F. von Meck.
“Grankino, July 5th (17th), 1882.
“The news about Skobeliev only reached us a week after the sad catastrophe. It is long since any death has given me a greater shock than this. In view of the lamentable lack of men of mark in Russia, what a loss is this personality, on whom so many hopes depended!”
To P. Jurgenson.
“Kamenka, July 26th (August 7th), 1882.
“My sister has just returned from Carlsbad, having stopped at Prague on the way to hear my Maid of Orleans, or Panna Orleanska, as she is called there. It appears the opera was given in the barrack-like summer theatre, and both the performance and staging were very poor.”
This first appearance of one of Tchaikovsky’s operas upon the stage of a West-European theatre passed almost unnoticed. The work had a succès d’estime and soon disappeared from the repertory of the Prague opera house. The Press were polite to the well-known symphonist Tchaikovsky, and considered that as regarded opera he deserved respect, sympathy, and interest, although he was not entitled to be called a dramatic composer “by the grace of God.”
The programme of the sixth symphony concert (August 8th (20th) 1882) of the Art and Industrial Exhibition was made up entirely from the works of Tchaikovsky, and included: (1) The Tempest; (2) Songs from Sniegourochka; (3) the Violin Concerto (with Brodsky as soloist); (4) the Italian Capriccio; (5) Songs; (6) the Overture “1812.” The last-mentioned work was now heard for the first time, and the Violin Concerto—although it had already been played in Vienna, London, and New York—for the first time in Russia. The success of these works, although considerable, did not equal that which has since been accorded them. Among many laudatory criticisms, one was couched in an entirely opposite spirit. Krouglikov said that the three movements of the Violin Concerto were so “somnolent and wearisome that one felt no desire to analyse it in detail.” The “1812” Overture seemed to him “much ado about nothing.” Finally, he felt himself obliged to state the “lamentable fact” that Tchaikovsky was “played out.”
To Modeste Tchaikovsky.
“Moscow, August 15th (27th), 1882.
“Dear Modi,—I found your letter when I came home an hour ago; but I have only just read it, because my mental condition was such that I had to collect myself first. What produces this terrible state?—I do not understand it myself.... Everything has tended to make to-day go pleasantly, and yet I am so depressed, and have suffered so intensely, that I might envy any beggar in the street. It all lies in the fact that life is impossible for me, except in the country or abroad. Why this is so, God knows—but I am simply on the verge of insanity.
“This undefinable, horrible, torturing malady, which declares itself in the fact that I cannot live a day, or an hour, in either of the Russian capitals without suffering, will perhaps be explained to me in some better world.... I often think that all my discontent springs from my own egoism, because I cannot sacrifice myself for others, even those who are near and dear to me. Then comes the comforting thought that I should not be suffering martyrdom except that I regard it as a kind of duty to come here now and then, for the sake of the pleasure it gives others. The devil knows! I only know this: that unattractive as Kamenka may be, I long for my corner there, as one longs for some inexpressible happiness. I hope to go there to-morrow.”
To N. F. von Meck.
“Kamenka, August 23rd (September 4th), 1882.
“Dear, incomparable Friend,—How lovely it is here! How freely I breathe once more! How delighted I am to see my dear room again! How good to live once more as one pleases, not as others order! How pleasant to work undisturbed, to read, to play, to walk, to be oneself, without having to play a different part a thousand times a day! How insincere, how senseless, is social life!”