Part VI
I
Strong and energetic, fearing neither conflict nor effort, the Tchaikovsky who entered upon this new phase of life in no way resembled the man we knew in 1878.
The duties connected with his public career no longer dismayed him; on the contrary, they proved rather attractive, now he had strength to cope with them. At the same time interests stirred within him such as could not have been satisfied in his former restricted existence. Thanks to the enormous success of Eugene Oniegin, his fame had now reached every class in educated Russia, and he was compelled to accept a certain rôle which—at least, in these first days of success—was not unpleasant to him. He was glad to pay attentions to others, to help everyone who came his way, because by this means he could show his gratitude to the public for the enthusiastic reception accorded to his work. He was no longer a misanthropist, rather he sought those to whom he was dear, not only as a man, but as a personage. Amongst these, his old and faithful friends in Moscow took the first place. These intimacies were now renewed, and every fresh meeting with Laroche, Kashkin, Jurgenson, Albrecht, Hubert, and Taneiev gave him the keenest delight. Although death had separated him from Nicholas Rubinstein, he showed his devotion to the memory of his friend by taking the deepest interest in his orphaned children.
In February, 1885, Tchaikovsky was unanimously elected Director of the Moscow branch of the Russian Musical Society.
As the most popular musician in Russia, he no longer avoided intercourse with his fellow-workers. He was ready with advice, assistance and direction, and regarded it as a duty to answer every question addressed to him. His correspondence with his “colleagues” would fill a book in itself.
He received letters not only from professional musicians, but from amateurs, male and female, students, enthusiastic girls, officers, and even occasionally from priests. To all these letters he replied with astonishing conscientiousness and strove, in so far as he could, to fulfil all their requests, which often led to touching, or sometimes grotesque, expressions of gratitude from the recipients of his favours.
As a composer Tchaikovsky no longer stood aloof, leaving the fate of his compositions to chance; nor did he regard it as infra dig. to make them known through the medium of influential people. After a convalescence which had lasted seven years, Tchaikovsky returned to all these activities with vigour and enjoyment, although after a time his courage flagged, and all his strength of will had to be requisitioned to enable him “to keep up this sort of existence.” Enthusiasm waned, and there succeeded—in his own words—“a life-weariness, and at times an insane depression; something hopeless, despairing, and final—and (as in every Finale) a sense of triviality.”
The new conditions of his life are reflected in his constantly increasing circle of acquaintances. In every town he visited he made new friends, who were drawn to him with whole-hearted affection. With many of them he entered into brisk correspondence. In some cases this was continued until his death; in other instances the exchange of letters ceased after a year or two, to make way for a fresh correspondence.
The most important and interesting of Tchaikovsky’s correspondents during this time are: Julie Spajinsky, wife of the well-known dramatist (1885-1891); Emilie Pavlovskaya, the famous singer, with whom Tchaikovsky became acquainted during the rehearsal for Mazeppa in 1884, and continued to correspond until 1888; the Grand Duke Constantine Constantinovich; the composer Ippolitov-Ivanov and his wife, the well-known singer, Zaroudna; Vladimir Napravnik, son of the conductor; the pianists Sapellnikov and Siloti. With Glazounov, Désirée Artôt, Brodsky, Hubert, his cousin Anna Merkling, and many others, there was an occasional exchange of letters.
The greater part of these communications, notwithstanding the intimate style and frankness of the writer’s nature, bear signs of effort, and give the impression of having been written for duty’s sake. Taken as a whole, they are not so important, or so interesting, as the letters to Nadejda von Meck, and to Tchaikovsky’s own family, belonging to the Moscow period.
The same may be said of the majority of new acquaintances made during the later years of his life, of which no epistolary record remains. These were so numerous that it would be impossible to speak of them individually. They included such personalities as Liadov, Altani, Grieg, Sophie Menter, Emil Sauer, Louis Diemer, Colonne, Carl Halir. Besides these, he was in touch with a vast number of people belonging to the most varied strata of social life. Among them was Legoshin, valet to his friend Kondratiev. Tchaikovsky got to know this man by the death-bed of his master, and valued his purity of heart and integrity more and more as years went by. Another unprofessional friend was the celebrated Russian general, Dragomirov. While travelling to France by sea, he made the acquaintance of an extraordinarily gifted boy, the son of Professor Sklifasskovsy. The friendship was brief as it was touching, for the youth died a year later. Tchaikovsky was deeply affected by his loss, and dedicated to his memory the Chant Elégiaque, op. 72.
All these new friendships served to surround the composer with that atmosphere of affection and appreciation which was as indispensable to him as his daily bread. But none of them were as deep and lasting as the ties of old days, none so close and intimate; nor did they contribute any new element to his inner life....
One word as to the dearest of all his later affections. His sister, A. Davidov, had three sons. The second of these, Vladimir, had always been Tchaikovsky’s favourite from childhood. Up to the age of eighteen, however, these pleasant relations between uncle and nephew had not assumed any deep significance. But as Vladimir Davidov grew up, Tchaikovsky gradually felt for him a sentiment which can only be compared to his love for the twins, Toly and Modi, in their youth. The difference of age was no hindrance to their relations. Tchaikovsky preferred the companionship of his nephew; was always grieved to part with him; confided to him his inmost thoughts, and finally made him his heir, commending to this young man all those whom he still desired to assist and cherish, even after his death.