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THE LIFE & LETTERS OF PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY
THE LIFE & LETTERS OF
PETER ILICH
TCHAIKOVSKY
BY MODESTE TCHAIKOVSKY
EDITED FROM THE RUSSIAN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ROSA NEWMARCH: ILLUSTRATED
LONDON : JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY : MCMVI
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LIMITED, PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH
TO
SERGEÏ IVANOVICH TANEIEV
AND TO ALL
WHO STILL CHERISH THE MEMORY OF
PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY
I DEDICATE THIS WORK
INTRODUCTION
In offering to English and American readers this abridged edition of
_The Life and Letters of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky_, my introduction must
of necessity take the form of some justification of my curtailments and
excisions.
The motives which led to this undertaking, and the reasons for my mode
of procedure, may be stated in a few words.
In 1900 I published a volume dealing with Tchaikovsky,[1] which was, I
believe, the first attempt to embody in book form all the
literature--scattered through the byways of Russian
journalism--concerning the composer of the Pathetic Symphony.
In the course of a year or two--the book having sold out in England and
America--a proposal was made to me to prepare a new edition. Meanwhile,
however, the authorised _Life and Letters_, compiled and edited by the
composer’s brother, Modeste Ilich Tchaikovsky, was being issued in
twenty-five parts by P. I. Jurgenson, of Moscow.[2] This original
Russian edition was followed almost immediately by a German translation,
published in Leipzig by the same firm.[3]
In November, 1901, the late P. I. Jurgenson approached me on the subject
of a translation, but his negotiations with an American firm eventually
fell through. He then requested me to find, if possible, an English
publisher willing to take up the book. Both in England and America the
public interest in Tchaikovsky seemed to be steadily increasing.
Frequent calls for copies of my small book--by this time out of
print--testified that this was actually the case.
An alternative course now lay before me: to revise my own book, with the
help of the material furnished by the authorised _Life and Letters_, or
to take in hand an English translation of the latter. The first would
have been the less arduous and exacting task; on the other hand, there
was no doubt in my mind as to the greater value and importance of
Modeste Tchaikovsky’s work.
The simplest--and in many ways most satisfactory--course seemed at first
to be the translation of the Russian edition in its entirety. Closer
examination, however, revealed the fact that out of the 3,000 letters
included in this book a large proportion were addressed to persons quite
unknown to the English and American publics; while at the same time it
contained a mass of minute and almost _local_ particulars which could
have very little significance for readers unversed in every detail of
Russian musical life.
Another practical question confronted me. What publisher would venture
upon launching this biographical three-decker, with its freight of 3,000
letters, amounting to nearly 2,000 pages of closely printed matter? Such
colossal biographies, however valuable as sources of information to the
specialist, are quite beyond all possibility of purchase or perusal by
the general public. That the author himself realised this, seems evident
from the fact that the German edition was lightened of about a third of
the original contents.
Following the lines of these authorised abridgments, while using my own
judgment as to the retention of some portions of the Russian text
omitted in the German edition, I have condensed the work still further.
It may be true, as Carlyle has said, that mankind takes “an unspeakable
delight in biography”; but it is equally certain that these “headlong
days” which have witnessed the extinction of the three-volume novel are
absolutely unfavourable to the success of the three-volume biography.
While admiring the patient and pious industry which has raised so
colossal a monument to Tchaikovsky’s memory, I cannot but feel that it
would be unreasonable to expect of any nation but his own a hero-worship
so devout that it could assimilate a _Tchaikovskiad_ of such prodigious
dimensions.
The present volume is the result of a careful selection of material. The
leading idea which I have kept in view throughout the fulfilment of my
task has been to preserve as far as possible the _autobiographical_
character of the book. Wherever feasible, I have preferred to let
Tchaikovsky himself tell the story of his life. For this reason the
proportion of letters to the additional biographical matter is even
greater in my version than in the German edition. When two or three
letters of only moderate interest have followed in immediate succession,
I have frequently condensed their contents into a single paragraph,
keeping as closely as possible to the phraseology of the composer
himself.
In one respect the present edition shows a clear improvement upon the
German. In the latter the dates have been given throughout in the Old
Style, thereby frequently causing confusion in the minds of Western
readers. In the English version--with a few unimportant exceptions--the
dates are given according to both calendars.
The most romantic episode of Tchaikovsky’s life--his friendship
extending over thirteen years with a woman to whom he never addressed a
direct personal greeting--is told in a series of intimate letters. In
these I have spared all but the most necessary abridgements.
The account of his tour in America, which takes the form of a diary kept
for the benefit of his near relatives, cannot fail to amuse and interest
all those who remember the favourable impression created by his
appearance at the inauguration of the Carnegie Hall, New York, in May,
1891.
The illustrations are the same as those published in the Russian and
German publications, with two notable additions: the photograph of
Tchaikovsky and Siloti, and the fine portrait by Kouznietsov.
My thanks are due to Mr. Grant Richards for permission to republish the
facsimile from the score of the Overture “_1812_”; also to Mr. W. W.
Manning and Mr. Adolf Brodsky for the kind loan of autographs.
In conclusion, let me say that in planning and carrying out this work it
is not so much the needs of the specialist I have kept most constantly
in view, as those of that large section of the musical public whose
interest in Tchaikovsky has been awakened by the sincerely emotional and
human elements of his music.
ROSA NEWMARCH
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART I. CHAPTERS I.-V. 1840-1861 1
PART II. CHAPTERS I.-VII. 1861-1866 30
PART III. CHAPTERS I.-XIII. 1866-1877 64
PART IV. CHAPTERS I.-VIII. 1877-1878 204
PART V. CHAPTERS I.-XX. 1878-1885 318
PART VI. CHAPTERS I.-XIII. 1885-1888 468
PART VII. CHAPTERS I.-XIX. 1888-1893 539
APPENDICES--A, B, C 726
ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF NAMES 773
ALPHABETICAL INDEX OF MUSICAL WORKS 779
ILLUSTRATIONS
1. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1893, FROM A PORTRAIT BY KOUZNIETSOV _Frontispiece_
TO FACE
PAGE
2. ILIA PETROVICH TCHAIKOVSKY, THE COMPOSER’S FATHER, IN 1860 4
3. THE HOUSE IN WHICH TCHAIKOVSKY WAS BORN, AT VOTINSK 8
4. THE TCHAIKOVSKY FAMILY IN 1848, FROM A DAGUERROTYPE 14
5. ALEXANDRA ANDREIEVNA TCHAIKOVSKY, THE COMPOSER’S MOTHER, IN 1848 20
6. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1859 (VIGNETTE) 26
7. THE COMPOSER’S FATHER, WITH HIS TWIN SONS MODESTE AND ANATOL 34
8. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1859 (CARTE DE VISITE) 42
9. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1863 56
10. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1867, IN WINTER DRESS 78
11. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1868 102
12. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1873 132
13. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1874 150
14. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1877 214
15. FRAGMENT FROM A LETTER, WITH SKETCH FOR A THEME
FOR “THE ENCHANTRESS” 482
16. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1888 540
17. TCHAIKOVSKY AND SILOTI 550
18. TCHAIKOVSKY’S HOUSE AT FROLOVSKOE 560
19. THE HOUSE IN WHICH TCHAIKOVSKY LIVED AT KLIN 680
20. TCHAIKOVSKY’S BEDROOM AT KLIN 694
21. SITTING-ROOM AT KLIN 700
22. TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1893 (TAKEN IN LONDON) 708
“To regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be
satisfied with the present--this is my life.”--P. TCHAIKOVSKY
(_Extract from a letter_)
THE LIFE & LETTERS OF PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY
PART I
I
One of the most characteristic traits of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky was his
ironical attitude towards his family’s traditions of noble descent. He
never lost an opportunity of making fun of their armorial bearings,
which he regarded as “imaginary,” and clung obstinately to the plebeian
origin of the Tchaikovskys. This was not merely the outcome of his
democratic convictions, but had its origin, partly in the pride which
lay at the very root of his nature, and partly in his excessive
conscientiousness. He would not consider himself a scion of the
aristocracy, because his nearest ancestors could not boast of one
_boyar_, nor one owner of patrimonial estates. His father was the sole
serf-owner in the family, and _he_ possessed a cook with a numerous
progeny--ten souls in all.
But if he was unconcerned as to family descent, he was far from
indifferent as to nationality. The aristocratic pretensions of his
relatives aroused his mockery, but the mere suggestion of their Polish
origin stirred him to instant wrath. Love of Russia and all things
Russian was so deeply rooted in him that, while he cared nothing for
questions of pedigree, he rejoiced to discover among his earliest
ancestors on his father’s side one orthodox Russian from the district of
Kremenschug.
Tracing back Tchaikovsky’s pedigree, we do not find a single name
connected with music. There is not one instance of a professional
musician, and only three can be considered amateurs--his mother’s
brother, Michael Assier; her sister Catharine, in her day a well-known
amateur in Petersburg society; and the composer’s mother herself, who
sang the fashionable ballads of her youth with feeling and expression.
All the rest of the family--Assiers and Tchaikovskys alike--not only
lacked musical talent, but were indifferent to the art. Thus it is
almost impossible to ascertain from whom Peter Ilich inherited his
genius, if indeed there can be any question of heredity. His one certain
inheritance seems to have been an abnormally neurotic tendency, which
probably came to him through his grandfather Assier, who suffered from
epilepsy. If it is true, as a modern scientist asserts, that “genius” is
merely an abnormal physical condition, then it is possible that
Tchaikovsky may have inherited his musical gift, at the same time as his
“nerves,” from the Assier family.
* * * * *
Little is known of the early life of the composer’s father, Ilia
Petrovich Tchaikovsky. In old age he rarely spoke of his youth, and did
not care to be questioned about it. Not that he had any painful memories
to conceal, but it was his habit to avoid all reference to himself, and
only to speak of his past when he had some amusing anecdote to relate,
or when he was induced by others to recall some glad, or sorrowful,
event of bygone days.
Ilia Petrovich Tchaikovsky was educated at the School of Mining
Engineers, which he left in 1817 at the age of twenty-two, having been
awarded the distinction of a silver medal. In the same year he was
appointed to an inspectorship in the Mining and Geological Department.
His career cannot have been brilliant, since it took him twenty years to
rise to the rank corresponding to a lieutenant-colonel. But the fact
that at thirty he was already a member of the Scientific Committee of
the Institute of Mining Engineers, and lectured on mining law and
statistics, proves him to have been a capable and industrious member of
his profession.
In private life, all who knew him agreed as to his sympathetic, jovial,
and straightforward character. Benevolence--or more correctly speaking,
a universal affection--was one of his chief characteristics. In youth,
manhood, and old age he loved his neighbour, and his faith in him
remained unshaken. His trustfulness knew no limits; and even the loss of
his entire fortune, due to misplaced confidence, did not avail to make
him suspicious of his fellow-men. To the end of his days, everyone he
met was “an excellent, honourable, good fellow.” Disillusionment cut him
to the quick, but had no power to obscure his rosy views of human
nature. It would be difficult to find a man who possessed so many
devoted friends.
Although a capable specialist, as regards general culture and
intelligence Ilia Petrovich had only a mediocre equipment. He had no
great taste for art and science. Music and the drama interested him
most. In his youth he played the flute a little, but gave it up early in
life.
On September 11th (23rd), 1827, Ilia Petrovich married Maria Carlovna
Keiser, by whom he had one daughter. Shortly afterwards he was left a
widower and, in October, 1833, married, for a second time, Alexandra
Andreievna Assier.
Almost as little is known of the childhood and youth of the composer’s
mother as of his father. As early as 1816 she was left motherless, and
was brought up in a Female Orphanage, where she completed her education
in 1829. The instruction in this school appears to have been excellent.
Alexandra Andreievna had a thorough knowledge of French and German. In
addition, she played the piano a little and sang nicely. A satisfactory
education for a girl who had neither means nor position.
Those who knew the composer’s mother describe her as tall and
distinguished-looking; not precisely handsome, but with wonderfully
expressive eyes. All agreed that there was something particularly
attractive in her appearance. Peter Ilich recollected his mother as a
tall woman, inclined to be stout, with wonderful eyes and beautiful
hands, although by no means small. “Such hands do not exist nowadays,
and never will again,” he used to say in after life.
Alexandra Andreievna, unlike her husband, was rather reserved and chary
of endearments. Her kindness, as compared to his universal amiability,
seemed somewhat austere, and showed itself more frequently in act than
in speech. The first child of this marriage was a daughter who died in
infancy.
In 1837 Ilia Tchaikovsky was appointed inspector of the mines at
Kamsko-Votinsk, in the Government of Viatka, where he settled with his
wife. On May 9th (21st), 1838, a son was born to them--Nicholas Ilich;
while on April 28th (May 10th), 1840, a second son came into the
world--Peter Ilich--the subject of this biography.
* * * * *
The position of manager in the case of such important mines as those of
Votinsk closely resembled that of a wealthy landowner living on his
estate. In some respects it was even more advantageous, because he had
every luxury in life provided for him: a fine house, a staff of
servants, and almost unlimited control over a number of human beings.
Ilia Tchaikovsky even had at command a small army of a hundred Cossacks,
and a little court, consisting of such employés in the mines as had any
claim to social position. The fine salary, thanks to the wise economy
of his wife, sufficed not only for every comfort, but even admitted of
something being put by for less prosperous times.
[Illustration: ILIA PETROVICH TCHAIKOVSKY, THE COMPOSER’S FATHER, IN
1860]
The allowance provided for social purposes sufficed for widespread
hospitality, and, owing to the affability of the host, and the
characteristic charm of his wife, the Tchaikovskys’ house was the
favourite resort of all the neighbouring society. This circle had
nothing in common with the uncultured provincial society of those days.
It was composed chiefly of young men from St. Petersburg, holding
various Government appointments in the district, and of one highly
intellectual English family. The proximity of Asia and the remoteness
from civilised centres were scarcely perceptible.
About the period of Peter Ilich’s earliest recollections, two new
members were added to the Tchaikovsky family--a girl, Alexandra, born
December 28th, 1842 (January 9th, 1843), and a son, Hyppolite, born
April 10th (22nd), 1844. The care of the younger children now so
exclusively occupied the mother’s attention that she was obliged to
engage a governess for her eldest son, Nicholas, and a niece, Lydia, who
lived with the family. While on a visit to St. Petersburg she became
acquainted with Fanny Dürbach, and brought her back to Votinsk in
November, 1844.
In view of the lasting influence which her personality exercised upon
Peter Ilich, some account of this lady should be given here.
Fanny Dürbach had been specially trained as a teacher, and had already
had some experience in her work. She knew French and German thoroughly,
and was a strict Protestant. She is still living at Montbeillard, near
Belfort, where she continues to give lessons. The poverty in which she
lived impressed me still more on my visit to her in 1894, because I knew
that two years earlier my brother Peter Ilich had implored her to
accept a regular allowance, which she absolutely refused. “I am content
with what I have,” she told him; “as far as I can be, after the heavy
blows fate has dealt me, I am happy.” The expression of her face,
wonderfully young for a woman of seventy-two, and the light in her large
black eyes, bespoke such true peace of mind and purity of heart that I
felt sure neither her physical ailments, nor the lack of luxury in her
surroundings, had power to darken the light of her declining days.
Although Fanny Dürbach’s connection with the Tchaikovsky family lasted
only four years, her memory lives with them to-day, while all her
successors have long been forgotten. She, too, had retained a vivid
recollection of “the happiest time in her life,” and her account of her
arrival at Votinsk gives an animated picture of the patriarchal life of
the Tchaikovsky family.
“I travelled from Petersburg with Madame Tchaikovsky and her son
Nicholas. The journey took three weeks, during which time we became
so friendly that we were quite intimate on our arrival. All the
same, I felt very shy. Had it only depended upon Madame Tchaikovsky
and her boy, all had been well; but there was still the prospect of
meeting strangers and facing new conditions of life. The nearer we
drew to the journey’s end, the more restless and anxious I became.
On our arrival, a single moment sufficed to dispel all my fears. A
number of people came out to meet us, and in the general greeting
and embracing it was difficult to distinguish relatives from
servants. All fraternised in the sincerity of their joy. The head
of the family kissed me without ceremony, as though I had been his
daughter. It seemed less like a first arrival than a return home.
The next morning I began my work without any misgivings for the
future.”
II.
Peter Ilich was four and a half years old when Fanny came to be
governess to Nicholas and his cousin Lydia, and on the first day his
mother had to yield to his tearful entreaties to share the lessons of
the elder children. Henceforward he always learnt with them, and
resented being excused any task on the grounds of his youth. He was
wonderfully quick in overtaking his fellow-pupils, and at six could read
French and German fluently. He learnt Russian with a tutor.
From the beginning, Fanny was especially attracted by her youngest
pupil; not only because he was more gifted and conscientious than the
others, nor because he was more docile than Nicholas, but because in all
the child’s ways there was something original and uncommon, which
exercised an indefinable charm on everyone who came in contact with him.
In looks he did not compare favourably with Nicholas, and was never so
clean and tidy. His clothes were always in disorder. Either he had
stained them in his absent-mindedness, or buttons were missing, or his
hair was only half-brushed, so that by the side of his spruce and
impeccable brother he did not show to advantage at first sight. But when
the charm of his mind, and still more of his heart, had time to work, it
was impossible not to prefer him to the other children. This sympathetic
charm, this gift of winning all hearts, Tchaikovsky retained to the last
day of his life.
To my inquiry in what way the boy’s charm showed itself most, our old
governess replied:--
“In no one particular thing, but rather in all his ways and
actions. At lessons no child was more industrious or quicker to
understand; in playtime none was so full of fun. When we read
together none listened so attentively as he did, and when on
holidays I gathered my pupils around me in the twilight and let
them tell tales in turn, no one could improvise so well as Peter
Ilich. I shall never forget these precious hours of my life. In
daily intercourse we all loved him, because we felt he loved us in
return. His sensibility was extreme, therefore I had to be very
careful how I treated him. A trifle wounded him deeply. He was
brittle as porcelain. With him there could be no question of
punishment; the least criticism or reproof, that would pass lightly
over other children, would upset him alarmingly.”
The weak and unhappy always found in him a staunch protector. Once he
heard with indignation that someone was intending to drown a cat. When
he discovered the monster who was planning this crime, he pleaded so
eloquently that pussy’s life was saved.
Another proof of his compassion for the suffering was his extraordinary
sympathy for Louis XVII. Even as a grown man his interest in the unhappy
prince survived. In 1868 he bought a picture representing him in the
Temple, and had it framed. This picture, and the portrait of Anton
Rubinstein, remained for a long while the only adornments of his walls.
The boy was also influenced by that enthusiastic patriotism--not without
a touch of Chauvinism--which characterised the reign of Nicholas I. From
this early period dates that exclusive affection for everything Russian
which lasted his whole lifetime. Sometimes his love for his country was
shown in a very droll way. Fanny used to relate the following story:--
[Illustration: THE HOUSE IN WHICH TCHAIKOVSKY WAS BORN, AT VOTINSK]
“Once, during the recreation hour, he was turning over the pages of
his atlas. Coming to the map of Europe, he smothered Russia with
kisses and spat on all the rest of the world. When I told him he
ought to be ashamed of such behaviour, that it was wicked to hate
his fellow-men who said the same ‘Our Father’ as himself, only
because they were not Russians, and reminded him that he was
spitting upon his own Fanny, who was a Frenchwoman, he replied at
once: ‘There is no need to scold me; didn’t you see me cover France
with my hand first?’”
Continuing her reminiscences, Fanny said:--
“As our leisure hours were few, I insisted on devoting them to
physical exercise; but often I met with some opposition from
Pierre, who would go straight from his lessons to the piano.
Otherwise he was obedient, and generally enjoyed romping with his
sisters. Left to himself, he preferred to play the piano, or to
read and write poetry.”
In the autumn of 1846 his half-sister Zinaïda left the Catharine
Institute, in St. Petersburg, and, her education being finished,
returned to live at home. With the arrival of this pretty and lively
school-girl the house became even merrier and brighter than before. To
the boy’s imagination, the new-comer seemed a visitant from a fairy
world.
In February, 1848, Ilia Tchaikovsky retired with the rank of
major-general. He was anxious to get an appointment as manager of
private mines, and with this object in view left Votinsk, with all his
family, for a long visit to Moscow. As it was intended on their arrival
to send Lydia and the elder boys to school, Fanny now took leave of her
friends for good. Not until forty-four years had elapsed did she renew
her acquaintance with the family in the person of Peter Ilich.
* * * * *
Besides Fanny’s reminiscences, which form so valuable an addition to the
biography of Tchaikovsky, she also preserved the books in which her
favourite pupil set down his thoughts in leisure hours; more often than
not in the form of verse. The old lady could not be persuaded to let
these relics leave her keeping, but she willingly made extracts from
them.
These manuscript books naturally contain nothing of real artistic or
literary value, but they are not the less interesting on that account.
They show the origin and give the explanation of Tchaikovsky’s artistic
tendency, and are not merely interesting from a biographical point of
view, but as documents in which we may study the evolution of genius.
These childish verses prove a precocious desire for expression, before
the right medium had been discovered. Here the future musician is
knocking at the wrong door.
There are two copy-books and a few loose pages. The handwriting,
although not beautiful, is well formed and firm. The pages show traces
of carelessness. They would have been very differently written, had they
been intended for other eyes than his own. We find here a miscellany of
verses, extracts, rough copies of letters, attempts to draw houses, odd
words and phrases, all jotted down without any connection.
The first book opens with a translation from a French reading-primer,
_L’éducation maternelle_. It bears the date 1847, with a French
signature, and is followed by several poems, of which two are in Russian
and the rest in French. They may be divided into three groups: the poems
relating to God; those which have a patriotic tendency; and those which
display his sympathy for the weak and suffering and his love of animals.
The first poem, dated 1847, is called:
L’ENFANT PARLE À SON ANGE GARDIEN
_Tez_ ailes dorées ont volé chez moi(?)
Ta _voi_ m’a _parler_
O! que j’étais heureuse
_Quant_ tu _venait_ chez moi
Tes ailes _son blanc_ et _pur_ aussi
Viens encore une _foix_
Pour parler de Dieu puissant!
Later on come some notes headed: “La force, l’activité.” “Il avait dans
sa vie la force et l’activité!”
When we recollect the ebullient activity of Peter Ilich’s musical
career, and his unflagging energy, we cannot help giving to these
fortuitous entries, if not a predictive significance, at least that of a
conscious homage to the qualities he most admired.
His patriotic ardour found vent in four poems, dated 1847, of which the
following is a specimen:
Terre! _apresent_ tu _est_ loin de moi
Je ne te _voi_ plus, o patrie cherie!
Je t’embrasse. O! pays _adorée_
Toi, oh Russie _aimé_
_Vien! vien! aupre_ de moi
Toi, place où je suis né
Je te salut! oh, terre cherie
Longtemps quand je suis né
Je n’avais ni memoire, ni raison
Ni de dons pour parler
Oh, je ne savais pas que ma Patrie est Russie!
He also attempted an historical essay in verse on Joan of Arc, whom he
had learnt to know from Masson’s _Les Enfants célèbres_. It is entitled:
THE HEROINE OF FRANCE
On t’aime, on ne t’oublie pas
Heroïne si belle!
Tu as sauvé la France
Fille d’un berger!
Mais qui fait ces actions si belles!
Barbare anglais vous ont tuée,
Toute la France vous admire
Tes cheveux blonds jusqu’à tes genoux
Ils sont très beau
Tu étais si célèbre
Que l’ange Michel t’apparut.
Les célèbres on pense à eux
Les mechants on les oublie!
After 1848 there are no more poetical effusions, perhaps because Fanny
was no longer there to preserve such documents; but more probably
because the boy had just begun to discover in music a new medium for the
expression of his sentiments.
* * * * *
At Votinsk there were no musicians, with the exception of a few
indifferent amateur pianists. The mother sang a little, but only played
the piano for her children to dance to; at least, from the time of her
marriage, we never hear of a more serious _répertoire_. No other member
of the household could do even as much. Unfortunately Fanny was not at
all musical, so that the place of music master to the future composer
fell to the lot of an inanimate object--an orchestrion which his father
brought home with him after a visit to St. Petersburg.
This orchestrion was a superior one, with a varied programme. Peter
Ilich himself considered that he owed his first musical impressions to
this instrument, which he was never tired of hearing. A composition by
Mozart had a particular fascination for him, and his passionate worship
of this master dates from this period of childhood, when Zerlina’s
“Aria,” or any melody from _Don Juan_, played by the orchestrion, awoke
in him “a beatific rapture.” Thanks to this instrument, he first became
acquainted with the music of Bellini and Donizetti, so that even the
love of Italian opera, which he cherished all his life, may be said to
have originated in the same way.
Very early in life he displayed a remarkable ear and quick musical
perception. No sooner had he acquired some rudimentary knowledge from
his mother, than he could repeat upon the piano all he heard on the
orchestrion. He found such delight in playing that it was frequently
necessary to drag him by force from the instrument. Afterwards, as the
next best substitute, he would take to drumming tunes upon the
window-panes. One day, while thus engaged, he was so entirely carried
away by this dumb show that he broke the glass and cut his hand
severely. This accident led his parents to reflect upon the child’s
incurable tendency and consider the question of his musical education.
They decided to engage as pianoforte teacher a young lady called Marie
Markovna Palchikov. This was about a year after Fanny’s arrival. Where
this teacher came from, and how far she understood her business, we
cannot say. We only know she came on purpose to teach Peter Ilich, who
kept a pleasant recollection of her. But she cannot entirely have
satisfied the requirements of the future composer, because already in
1848 he could read at sight as easily as she did. Nor can her knowledge
of musical literature have been extensive, for her pupil could not
remember a single item in her repertory.
We know from Fanny’s own testimony that the boy spent every spare moment
at the piano, and that she did her utmost to prevent it. A musician’s
life did not offer to her mind a radiant prospect. She took more
pleasure in her pupil’s literary efforts, and called him in fun “the
juvenile Poushkin.” She also observed that music had a great effect upon
his nervous system. After his music lesson, or after having improvised
for any length of time, he was invariably overwrought and excited. One
evening the Tchaikovskys gave a musical party at which the children were
allowed to be present. At first Peter Ilich was very happy, but before
the end of the evening he grew so tired that he went to bed before the
others. When Fanny visited his room she found him wide awake, sitting up
in bed with bright, feverish eyes, and crying to himself. Asked what was
the matter, he replied, although there was no music going on at the
time: “Oh, this music, this music! Save me from it! It is here, here,”
pointing to his head, “and will not give me any peace.”
Occasionally a Polish officer visited Votinsk. He was an excellent
amateur and played Chopin’s “Mazurkas” particularly well. His coming was
a red-letter day for Peter Ilich. Once he learnt two mazurkas all by
himself, and played them so charmingly that the officer kissed him when
he had done. “I never saw Pierre so radiantly happy as that day,” says
Fanny.
This is all I have been able to glean with regard to Peter Ilich’s
musical development at this period of his life.
III
The Tchaikovsky family arrived in Moscow early in October, 1848. Here
they were predestined to misfortune and disappointment. The father had
confided to one of his friends at Votinsk that he had received the offer
of a fine appointment. On arriving in Moscow, he discovered that the
treacherous friend had betrayed his confidence and made use of the
information to secure the tempting berth for himself. Added to this, an
epidemic of cholera had just broken out in the town, and the children’s
maid nearly fell a victim to the disease. The uncertainty of their
position, the absence of their father--who, on hearing of the trick
which had been played him, hastened to Petersburg--the grim spectre of
the cholera, all combined to make their sojourn in Moscow anything but a
happy one. These things cut deep into the sensitive disposition of Peter
Ilich. Just at this moment he stood in the greatest need of loving and
careful supervision, and yet at no time did he suffer more from neglect,
for his mother was too preoccupied, and too anxious about the future of
the family, to spare time and consideration for the moods of its
individual members. The children were left to her stepdaughter, herself
still half a child, and devoid of all experience. Zinaïda was the
only one who did not make a pet of Peter, and it seems more than
probable that the young poet found her anything but a just and patient
teacher. Under these circumstances his recollections of the happy past
became more and more idealised, and his retrospective yearnings more
intense.
[Illustration: THE TCHAIKOVSKY FAMILY IN 1848
PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY. ALEXANDRA ANDREIEVNA (THE MOTHER). ZINAIDA
ILYINICHA. NICHOLAS ILICH. HYPPOLITE ILICH. ILIA PETROVICH (THE FATHER).
7. ALEXANDRA ILYINICHA. (CENTRE)
(_From an old Daguerrotype_)]
Early in November the family removed to Petersburg and took up their
abode on the Vassily Ostrov, near the Exchange.
Here their first impressions were more favourable than in Moscow. The
modern capital was the mother’s native place, and almost like home to
the father. Both had many friends and relatives residing there. No
unexpected disagreeables awaited them in St. Petersburg, and they
settled down once again to a peaceful home life.
But now the real trials of life began for Peter Ilich. Immediately after
their arrival, he and his brother Nicholas were sent to a
boarding-school. From Fanny’s tender care they passed straight into the
hands of an unsympathetic teacher, and found themselves among a host of
boys, who received the new-comers with the customary greeting of whacks
and thumps. The work, too, was very hard. They left home at eight in the
morning and did not return till five in the afternoon. The home
preparation was so severe that sometimes the boys sat over their books
till midnight. Besides all this, Peter had regular music lessons with
the pianist Philipov. Judging from the rapid progress he made in a short
time, this teacher must have been thoroughly competent. Such hard work
was very fatiguing, especially as the boys were drinking in new æsthetic
impressions at the same time. The Tchaikovskys frequently took the
children to the opera and theatre.
If the singing and playing of mediocre amateurs had excited the future
composer to such an extent that their music haunted him for hours; if a
mechanical organ could completely enchant him--how infinitely more
intense must have been the first impression made by a full orchestra!
What an agitation, and at the same time what an unhealthy stimulus to
his over-sensibility!
This nervous tension began to be apparent, not only in his pallor and
emaciation, but in frequent ailments that kept him from school. There
was also a moral reaction, and the boy became capricious, irritable, and
unlike his former self.
In December both brothers had measles; but while in Nicholas the ailment
ran its usual course, Peter’s nervous irritability was much increased by
the illness, and the doctors believed he was suffering from some spinal
trouble. All work was forbidden, and the invalid rested until June,
1849. After a time, quiet and freedom from lessons improved the boy’s
physical health, but his moral character did not entirely regain its
former cheerful serenity. The wound was healed, but the scar remained.
* * * * *
Early in 1849 Ilia Tchaikovsky was appointed manager of works on the
Yakovliev property at Alapaiev and Nijny-Neviansk.
Having left his eldest son at a boarding-school, to be prepared for the
School of Mining Engineers, he quitted Petersburg with the rest of his
family, and settled in the little town of Alapaiev.
The position was not so brilliant as the one he had held under the
Government, but the house was roomy and comfortable, and the
Tchaikovskys soon made themselves at home and endeavoured to revive the
patriarchal style in which they had lived at Votinsk.
The change from St. Petersburg, while it proved beneficial to Peter’s
health, did not cure his indolence, capriciousness, and irritability. On
the contrary, they seemed to increase, because his present surroundings
suggested comparisons with his ideal life at Votinsk, which were
unfavourable to Alapaiev. He was lonely, for he missed Nicholas;
although at the same time he was jealous of the continual
congratulations over each letter which came from Petersburg, announcing
his brother’s progress and success. The family were delighted, and
compared him with Peter, whose studies did not progress rapidly under
such an indifferent teacher as Zinaïda. “Pierre is not himself,” wrote
his mother at this time. “He has grown idle, learns nothing, and often
makes me cry with vexation.”
Even Peter himself confesses his indolence in a letter dated July 7th
(19th):--
“MA CHÈRE M-ELLE FANNY,--Je vous prie beaucoup de me pardonner que
je ne vous ai ecrit si longtemps. Mais comme vous savez que je ne
ment pas, c’est _ma paresse_ qui en est cause, mais ce n’est pas
_l’oublie_, parceque je Vous aime toujours comme je vous aimez
avant. Nicholas apprend très bien.”[4]
Receiving no reply to this, he wrote again at the end of June. At last
an answer came, in which, apparently, Fanny scolded her old pupil, for
one of his cousins wrote at this time: “When your letter came, Aunty
read it aloud, and Peterkin cried bitterly. He loves you so.”
A real improvement in the boy’s character dated from the arrival of a
new governess, Nastasia Petrov. His mother was soon able to report to
Fanny that “Pierre is behaving better and learns willingly with his new
teacher.”
On May 1st (13th), 1850, twin boys were added to the Tchaikovsky
family--Anatol and Modeste. Peter Ilich informed Fanny of the event in
the following letter:--
“[ALAPAIEV, _May_ 2_nd_ (14_th_), 1850.]
“CHÈRE ET BONNE MELLE FANNY,--C’est avec une grande joie que j’ai
appris la nouvelle que vous avez un élève _siban_ et si diligent.
Je veux aussi Vous apprendre, ma chère Fanny, une nouvelle qui
peutêtre Vous rejouira un peu; c’est la naissance de mes frères qui
sont jumeaux (la nuit du premier Mai). Je les ai déjà vus plusieurs
fois, mais chaque fois que je les vois je crois que ce sont des
Anges qui ont descendu sur la terre.”[5]
Meanwhile he had made great progress in music. No doubt he had profited
greatly by Philipov’s instruction, as well as by the other musical
impressions he had received in Petersburg. Now, he not only played the
pieces he was learning, but would often improvise, “just for myself
alone when I feel sad,” as he says in one of his letters. His musical
idiom was growing richer, and music had become to him what poetry had
been at Votinsk. Henceforth we hear no more about verses. He had found
the right medium of expression for all that was in his soul. About this
time he began to compose, although his attempts were merely
improvisations. Musical sounds, according to his own account, followed
him everywhere, whatever he was doing. His parents did nothing, however,
to further his musical education, partly because they were afraid of a
return of his nervous disorder, and partly because they had no intention
of making their son a professional musician. No one at Alapaiev took any
interest in his musical talent, and he kept his thoughts to himself;
either from pride, or because as yet he had no great confidence in his
own gifts. The fact that his character was changing may also have had
something to do with his reserve. He felt he possessed something that
none of his associates could share, and, inwardly conscious of his
power, he was mortified that it should pass unobserved, and that no one
should be interested in his artistic aspirations.
When he went to St. Petersburg for the second time, he was no longer a
child. His natural qualities were unchanged, but experience had somewhat
hardened him. He was better fitted for the battle of life, but his
susceptibilities and his enthusiasms were a trifle blunted.
His young life had already a past, for he had learnt to suffer. Nor did
the future appear any more in a rainbow glory, since he realised that it
would bring renunciation as well as joy. But he carried a treasure in
his heart, a light hidden from all eyes but his own, which was to bring
him comfort and courage in the hour of trial.
IV
Early in August, 1850, Madame Tchaikovsky went to Petersburg,
accompanied by her daughter, her stepdaughter, and Peter Ilich.
The parents had originally intended to place both their sons at the
School of Mining Engineers. Their reason for altering this plan and
sending Peter to the School of Jurisprudence has not transpired.
Probably it was highly recommended to them by an old friend of Ilia
Tchaikovsky’s, M. A. Vakar, who had already the charge of Nicholas. This
gentleman’s brother, Plato Vakar, who was to play an important part in
the life of Peter Ilich, was a lawyer, a fine man with a brilliant
career in prospect. It is not at all improbable that the Tchaikovskys
resolved to send their son to the school of which he was such an
admirable example.
Peter Ilich was too young to pass straight into the School of
Jurisprudence. It was necessary that for two years he should attend the
preparatory classes. At first, all his Sundays and half-holidays were
spent with his mother, who also visited him on every opportunity; so
that in the beginning he did not feel the transition from home to school
life so severely. But his mother could not remain in Petersburg after
the middle of October, and then came one of the most terrible memories
of Peter’s life--the day of her departure.
When the actual moment of parting came, he completely lost his
self-control and, clinging wildly to his mother, refused to let her go.
Neither kisses, nor words of comfort, nor the promise to return soon,
were of any avail. He saw nothing, heard nothing, but hung upon her as
though he was part and parcel of the beloved presence. It became
necessary to carry off the poor child by force, and hold him fast until
his mother had driven away. Even then he broke loose, and with a cry of
despair, ran after the carriage, and clung to one of the wheels, as
though he would bring the vehicle to a standstill.
[Illustration: ALEXANDRA ANDREIEVNA TCHAIKOVSKY, THE COMPOSER’S MOTHER,
IN 1848]
To his life’s end Tchaikovsky could never recall this hour without a
shiver of horror. This first great trouble of his life was only partly
obliterated by a still greater grief--the death of his mother. Although
in after life he passed through many sad experiences, and knew
disappointment and renunciation, he could never forget the sense of
resentment and despair which possessed him as the carriage containing
his beloved mother passed out of sight. The shadow of this parting
darkened the first year of his school life. Home-sickness and yearning
effaced all other impressions, and destroyed all his earlier tendencies,
desires, and thoughts. For two whole years it is evident from his
letters that he lived only in the hope of seeing his parents again. He
knew no other preoccupations or distractions.
* * * * *
Hardly had the boy’s mother left St. Petersburg, when an epidemic of
scarlet fever broke out in the school. The Vakars hastened to take Peter
into their own house, but unhappily the boy, although he escaped
illness himself, carried the infection with him. The eldest son, the
pride of the home, developed the complaint and died of it. Not a word of
reproach was breathed to Peter Ilich, the unhappy cause of the disaster;
but the boy could not rid himself of the sense that the parents must
regard him with secret bitterness. It is not surprising that just at
this time life seemed to him cold and cheerless, and that he longed more
than ever for his own people.
The Vakars left Petersburg in April, 1851, and a new home was found for
the two brothers in the family of M. Weiss. This change does not appear
to have had much effect on Peter Ilich. The tone of his letters remains
as homesick as before. But in the following May, Plato Vakar and his
wife took the boys into their own house, where they remained until their
parents returned to settle in St. Petersburg. In these surroundings
Peter’s spirits brightened perceptibly.
In September his father came alone and spent three weeks with his boys.
His departure was not so tragic an event as had been the mother’s a year
earlier. Peter was now older, and had learnt to do without his parents.
Henceforth his letters are calmer; his entreaties to his mother to come
occur less frequently, and are sometimes put in a playful manner.
* * * * *
In May, 1852, the Tchaikovsky family returned to St. Petersburg. His
modest savings and the pension he drew from the Government enabled Ilia
Tchaikovsky to retire from work and live reunited with his children.
This period of the composer’s life offers few interesting events. The
monotony of his schooldays was only broken by his Sunday _exeat_ which
was spent at home.
In 1854 his half-sister, Zinaïda, was married; and in the course of the
same year a tragic event took place, which cast a gloom over the family
for long days to come. Two years later, in 1856, Peter Ilich refers to
this loss in a letter to Fanny:--
“First I must give you some very sad news. A terrible grief befell
us more than two years since. Four months after Zinaïda’s marriage
my mother was taken ill with cholera. Thanks to the care of her
doctor, she rallied, but not for long. Three days later she was
taken from us without even time to bid us good-bye.”
This occurred in July, 1854, and the troubles of the bereaved family did
not end here. On the day of his wife’s funeral Ilia Tchaikovsky was also
seized with cholera; but although for several days he was in great
danger, his life was eventually spared to his family. In his bereaved
condition he now found it impossible to keep house. Consequently the
younger children were sent to various schools and institutions, while he
himself made a home in the household of his brother, Peter Petrovich
Tchaikovsky, who was then residing in Petersburg.
* * * * *
The period between 1852 and 1854 had a twofold influence upon
Tchaikovsky’s character. The tears he had shed, the suffering he had
experienced during the two years spent away from home, had reformed his
nature, and brought back, in all his old candour and charm, the boy we
knew at Votinsk. The irritability, idleness, insincerity, and
dissatisfaction with his surroundings had now given place to his old
frankness of character, which had formerly fascinated all who came in
contact with him.
On the other hand, the former freedom in which his mind and soul
developed was now greatly restricted by his way of life, which, although
wholesome in some respects, was a direct hindrance to his artistic
development. His musical progress, which had made such strides between
1848 and 1849, now came to a standstill that lasted ten years.
Of the thirty-nine letters written during his first two years of
school-life, only two have any reference to music. Once he speaks of
having played a polka for his comrades, and adds that he had been
practising a piece learnt three years previously. Another time he writes
to his parents that some day he will relate them the story of _Der
Freischütz_, and recalls having heard _A Life for the Tsar_ on his first
visit to Petersburg.
It would, however, be incorrect to conclude from this that he lived
without musical impressions. He had strong predilections, and, as he
himself says, Weber’s inspired creation, together with _A Life for the
Tsar_ and certain airs from _Don Giovanni_--learnt by means of the
orchestrion at Votinsk--occupied the highest niches in the temple of his
gods. But he had no one to share his musical enthusiasms. At that period
there was not a single amateur among his acquaintances. Everyone with
whom he came in contact regarded music merely as a pastime, without
serious significance in life. Meeting with little sympathy from his
relatives or teachers, and even less from his schoolmates, he kept his
secret aspirations to himself. He showed a certain reticence in all that
concerned his music. When asked to play, he did so unwillingly, and
hurried to get the performance over. But when he sat down to the piano,
believing himself to be alone, he seemed quite absorbed in his
improvisations.
The only person with whom he could discuss his musical taste was his
aunt, Mme. E. A. Alexeiev. Her knowledge of instrumental music was
limited, but she could advance her nephew’s acquaintance with
vocal--especially operatic--music. Thanks to her, he learnt to know the
whole of _Don Giovanni_, and was never tired of reading the pianoforte
score.
“The music of _Don Juan_,” he wrote in 1878, “was the first to make
a deep impression upon me. It awoke a spiritual ecstasy which was
afterwards to bear fruit. By its help I penetrated into that world
of artistic beauty where only great genius abides. It is due to
Mozart that I devoted my life to music. He gave the first impulse
to my efforts, and made me love it above all else in the world.”
But although Tchaikovsky shrank from sharing his deeper musical emotions
with anyone, he was quite willing to take part with those who regarded
music as a mere recreation. He sang bravura airs with a facility of
vocalisation any _prima donna_ might have envied. Once he learnt, with
his aunt, the exceedingly florid duet in _Semiramide_, and sang the
soprano part admirably. He was very proud of his wonderful natural
shake.
About this time one of his most characteristic peculiarities first
showed itself: his docility and compliance to the opinions of others on
all questions save those concerned with music. Here he would brook no
interference. In spite of any attempts to influence his judgment in this
respect, he adhered to his own views and followed only his own inward
promptings. In all other matters he was malleable as wax.
V
Tchaikovsky’s school life had little or no effect upon his subsequent
career. The period between 1852-1859 reveals to us not so much the
evolution of an artist, as that of an amiable, but mediocre, official,
of whom scarcely a trace was to be found some five years later.
The biographical material of this period is necessarily very scanty,
being limited to the somewhat hazy reminiscences of his relatives and
school friends. Naturally enough it did not occur to anyone to take
notes of the comings and goings of a very ordinary young man.
Among the masters and pupils at the School of Jurisprudence no one seems
to have exercised any lasting influence, moral or intellectual, upon
Tchaikovsky.
He was studious and capable. Many of his studies interested him, but
neither he, nor any of his schoolmates, could recall one particular
subject in which he had won distinction. On the other hand, mathematics
alone seem to have offered any serious difficulty to him.
* * * * *
The scholars of the School of Jurisprudence were drawn chiefly from the
upper middle classes, consequently Tchaikovsky found himself from the
first among his social equals. His final year was not especially
brilliant, but, besides the composer himself, it included the poet
Apukhtin and the famous lawyer Gerard.
According to the latter’s account, the scholars of that year aimed high.
All took a keen interest in literature. Even the lower forms possessed a
school magazine, to which Apukhtin, Maslov, Aertel, Gerard, and
Tchaikovsky were contributors. A “History of the Literature of our
Form,” very smartly written, emanated--so Maslov says--from
Tchaikovsky’s pen.
* * * * *
Among the composer’s schoolfellows Vladimir Stepanovich Adamov takes the
first place. Although they spent but a few months in the same class, the
mutual attraction was so strong that they remained intimate friends
until death severed the connection. Adamov was a typical scholar of the
hard-working kind, yet at the same time he had æsthetic aspirations and
tastes. He was a passionate lover of nature and very fond of music,
although he never became more than an indifferent amateur singer. The
friends often went together to the Italian Opera. Adamov left the school
with a gold medal and rose rapidly to a high place in the Ministry of
Justice. His premature death in 1877 was a severe blow to Tchaikovsky,
for Adamov was one of the few intimate friends to whom he cared to
confide his artistic aspirations.
Apukhtin, who came to school in 1853, at thirteen, was a youthful
prodigy. His poetical gifts were already the admiration not only of his
comrades, but of the outer world. He possessed the same personal charm
as Tchaikovsky, but was far more sophisticated and self-conscious. The
universal admiration to which he was accustomed, the interest of such
writers as Tourgeniev and Fet, tended to encourage his vanity. The path
to fame lay clearly before him.
Apukhtin’s tendencies were decidedly sceptical. He was the exact
opposite of Tchaikovsky. Their temperaments were radically different.
But both loved poetry, and shared that delicate “flair” for all that is
choice--that mysterious “something” which draws artists together, no
matter when or where they chance to meet. The contrast in all other
respects only served to open new horizons to both and draw the bonds of
friendship closer.
As a friend and schoolmate, Tchaikovsky displayed the same qualities
which distinguished him as a child at Votinsk. Now, as subsequently in
the Ministry of Justice, at the Conservatoires of Petersburg and Moscow,
throughout Europe and across the Atlantic, we watch him drawing all
hearts towards himself, while the circle of his friendships was
constantly widening.
By the time he passed out of the preparatory classes, his ideal faith in
the order of things was shaken. He no longer worked with a kind of
religious fervour for work’s sake. Henceforward he did just what was
necessary to avoid punishment and to enable him to qualify for an
official post, without any real interest in the work. As to music,
neither he, nor any of his circle, had any confidence in an artistic
career. He scarcely realised in what direction he was drifting; yet with
the change from youth to manhood came also the desire to taste the
pleasures and excitements of life. The future appeared to him as an
endless festival, and as nothing had come, so far, to mar his happiness,
he gave himself up to this delightful illusion.
[Illustration: TCHAIKOVSKY IN 1859]
With an impulsive temperament, he took life easily: a good-natured,
careless young man, unencumbered by serious aspirations or intentions.
* * * * *
In 1855, in consequence of the mother’s death, the family life of the
Tchaikovskys underwent great changes.
Ilia Tchaikovsky was a good father, but he did not understand the
education of the younger children. Realising this fact--and partly
because he found his loneliness unbearable--he now resolved to share the
home of his brother, Peter Petrovich Tchaikovsky.
Peter Petrovich was a white-haired man of seventy, every inch a soldier,
who had seen many campaigns, and bore many honourable scars. He was
exceedingly religious, and up to the time of his marriage had led a life
devoted to prayer, fasting, and warfare. He might have belonged to some
mediæval order of knighthood. Stern towards himself, he demanded blind
obedience from his wife and children; when he found that they did not
respond to his influence, he shut himself apart in grim disapproval and
wrote endless tracts on mystical subjects.
Madame Peter Tchaikovsky, although a little in awe of her husband,
permitted her children to enjoy all the amusements natural to their
age--balls, concerts, and other worldly dissipations. The young people
of both families led a merry, careless existence until the spring of
1858, when Ilia Tchaikovsky, thanks to his over-confidence in humanity,
suddenly lost his entire fortune and was obliged in his declining days
to seek a new appointment. Fortunately this was forthcoming and, as the
Director of the Technological Institute, he found himself once more in
comfortable circumstances. A married sister-in-law Elizabeth Schobert,
and her family, now joined the Tchaikovsky household, established in the
official residence that went with the new appointment.
On May 13th (25th), 1859, Peter Ilich left the School of Jurisprudence
and entered the Ministry of Justice as a first-class clerk. This event,
which would have meant so much to any other young man, signified little
to Tchaikovsky. He did not take his new work seriously, although he had
no presentiment of his future destiny. How little his official
occupations really interested him is evident from the fact that a few
months after he had changed his vocation he could not remember the
nature of his work in the Ministry of Justice. He only recollected one
of his colleagues, because of “something rather unusual that seemed to
flash from his eyes.” Twenty-five years later Tchaikovsky met this man
again in the person of the celebrated landscape painter Volkov.
One “traditional” anecdote, and the brief history of Peter Ilich as an
official is complete. He had been entrusted with a signed document from
the chief of his department, but on his way to deliver it he stopped to
talk with someone, and in his absence of mind never noticed that, while
talking, he kept tearing off scraps of the paper and chewing them--a
trick he always had with theatre tickets or programmes. There was
nothing for it but to re-copy the document and, however unpleasant, to
face his chief for a fresh signature.
Tchaikovsky delighted in nature and the freedom of the country. In
winter the theatre was his chief amusement, especially the French play,
the ballet, and the Italian opera. He was particularly fascinated by
ballets of the fantastic or fairy order, and gradually came to value
more and more the art of dancing.
The acting of Adelaide Ristori made a profound impression upon
Tchaikovsky. His greatest admiration, however, was for the singer
Lagroua. She was not a beautiful woman, but, in the part of Norma, she
displayed such tragic pathos, such plastic art, that she was worthy to
be compared with the greatest actresses.
In 1860 Tchaikovsky’s youngest sister and constant companion, Alexandra
Ilinichna, was married to Leo Vassilievich Davidov, and went to live in
the Government of Kiev. During the following year several other members
of the family went out into the world, so that the cheerful family life
came to an end, and a shade of melancholy crept over the remainder of
the household.
At this period Tchaikovsky’s attitude to his father and his aunts was
slightly egotistical and contemptuous. This was only a passing phase. He
was not actually wanting in affection for his own people, but was simply
bored in their society. At this age he could not endure a quiet life at
home.
Under such auspices dawned the year 1861, destined to inaugurate a new
epoch in the life of Tchaikovsky.