Читать книгу The Life & Letters of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky - Chaikovskii Modest - Страница 10

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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.

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.